I Don't Seem To Know Anything, Anymore
by get-a-grip38
Summary: As a busy doctor at a busy hospital, Sara Tancredi encountered several dozen patients each and every day. One of those patients is about to change her life… again. MiSa, future. Final two chapters are up, should be working now.
1. But I Know You're So Much More

I Don't Seem To Know Anything, Anymore

Yay, new story! As a busy doctor at a busy hospital, Sara Tancredi encountered several dozen patients each and every day. One of those patients is about to change her life… again. Set in the future. Kind of your run-of-the-mill MiSa fic, but hopefully its a little different than most. As always, reviews are always welcome.

Rating: K+ for now. May change.

Disclaimer: If I owned Prison Break, believe you me, there would not be a two week break between episodes. :(

Chapter 1: But I Know You're So Much More

* * *

The hospital had only been open for a few months since its remodeling, which had left it with a modern if slightly detached feeling. Several hundred patients passed through its automatic doors each and every day. Some came because of its widely renowned medical teams, its state-of-the-art equipment, or its cutting-edge procedures and treatments. Others came because it was convenient, whether in cars driven by loved ones or in ambulances, racing against time to get victims helped before it was too late.

He arrived in an ambulance.

Sara Tancredi first got wind of the possibility that he was here through the grapevine. The hospital staff was notorious for their gossiping habits, and nothing of interest ever went down without the entire floor knowing about it. According to an intern, who had heard it from a nurse, who had it on good word from a well-informed patient, he had been brought in by paramedics at a little after nine in the morning, roughly an hour before Sara's shift commenced. By the time she got word of his supposed presence, he was in surgery. It wasn't clear what exactly was allegedly wrong with him, but apparently (so said the intern), it was serious. Serious enough, it seemed, that the staff had more than a little difficulty staying focused that morning. After all, it wasn't common for celebrities to step into (or in this case, be wheeled into) their domain.

Sara rapped her knuckles firmly on the door of the Head of her department, Dr. Phoebe Carrol. "Enter." Came the reply. Sara stepped into the woman's office immediately, shutting the door softly behind her. "Dr. Tancredi. What can I do for you today?"

She shrugged in response, as though this was sheerly a social call. In general, Sara got along with those she worked with, and Dr. Carrol was no exception. They were her associates, not her friends, but that was Sara's choice, not theirs. Since coming here, she had kept herself at a distance, allowing precious few to get close to her. Being so detached from others perhaps kept Sara from making professional advances as quickly as she otherwise could have, but that was all right with her. She liked where she was, and at this point in her life, it was easier for her to keep others at arms' length.

"Come on, Tancredi. You know as well as I do that no one comes in here without a game plan and a goal." Carrol stated wryly, still filling out paperwork.

Sara permitted herself a small smile. She admired the other woman's ability to see through others. "I'm assuming you heard about the… special case that arrived this morning?"

"I've heard the rumors." Dr. Carrol responded, setting her pen down. "I find it hard to believe that anyone in this building hasn't."

"Is there any truth to them?" Sara wanted to know immediately. If anyone knew for sure, it would be Carrol.

"We're waiting for confirmation, but there's a fair chance it is. Why do you ask?"

"I was actually wondering if I could be reassigned to it."

Dr. Carrol laughed kindly for a moment. "Every doctor of every rank has been in here today already, all of them wanting the same thing." She paused. "Quite frankly, I'm surprised you weren't here sooner. Given your dedication to your work." It was common knowledge that Sara spent almost all of her time working, or doing something work-related, rather than doing other things, such as spending time with a husband, fiancé, or steady boyfriend. She had some friends here, amongst the staff, but none outside of the hospital, and hadn't been in a serious relationship since… well, for a long time.

"I had some other patients to attend to first. But I'm here now."

"I don't want you to take this personally, Dr. Tancredi, but I'm going to tell you the same thing I told all the others: we have a system in place, to best help the patients. All of our doctors are perfectly qualified. Whoever his doctors are, are who they will remain." Carrol paused again. "And you were involved in all that confusion a couple years ago..."

Sara didn't immediately reply. For a moment, she was lost in a flurry of memories that had suddenly come flooding back, of everything that had happened in that year. Things had been going well. They were beating the conspiracy at its own game. And then suddenly, everything fell apart. Sara had lost touch with the brothers. She knew that there'd been police, and gunshots, but the rest of the details were a little fuzzy in Sara's memory because of the Post-Traumatic Stress syndrome she'd suffered from after the ordeal, although she knew that she had wound up in a hospital somewhere. Upon returning home, she'd struggled a great deal to get her life back on track. When everything regarding the escape and the ensuing events was resolved, Sara had finally completed her rehab and applied for a job at St. Joseph's. She'd gotten it (and tried very hard to pretend that it wasn't just because of her public role in the exposure of the Company), and hadn't spoken to any of the remaining Fox River 8 since. Old healed wounds, external and internal, tangible and intangible, now ached in remembrance.

"Dr. Tancredi?" Carrol's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"No. I mean yes. Yes, I was involved." Sara spoke finally. Dr. Carrol looked at her for a long moment, presumably weighing her options. A glimmer of hope arose in Sara as she waited. Maybe Carrol would let her in after all, before-

"No, definitely not. We abide by a policy, that as doctors, we do not treat family members, and we do not treat friends."

"He's not family, and after two years of no contact, he can hardly be considered a friend." Sara asserted.

For a moment, neither spoke. Carrol broke the silence. "Dr. Tancredi, as your employer, when I hired you, I did a bit of research. While no one except the two of you knows exactly what happened between you and Mr. Scoffield, and how that impacted… things, I think it's perfectly clear that something did, and I can't afford to have any case, but especially this one, being such a high profile case, jeopardized because of something that happened two and a half years ago. You've proven yourself to be a valuable asset to our team since then, and I understand why you more so than others would have a motive to want to be in on this, but you know as well as anyone how capable our doctors are. They can handle it." She paused, and removed her glasses. "And as someone who has known you for two years, who followed the news and had a front row seat to you getting your life back together, I think that it's better for you if you remained entirely uninvolved in this. Again, I don't know what happened, but I don't know that you can handle this. You just got back on track, don't risk messing it up again."

"Excuse me, but, um, are you saying I can't handle this?" Sara asked, a little hurt.

"You are one of the strongest people I've ever met, Sara. But you've been through a hell of a lot because of him, and I would think that this would be more than anyone could take." Dr. Carrol replied, a kind smile on her face.

Sara nodded slowly, thinking over what the other woman had said. She was no longer insulted by this; after all, she knew that Carrol had just been saying what she felt. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Dr. Carrol."

"It's no trouble. And Sara," Dr. Carrol paused, as Sara turned to leave. "It truly is nothing personal."

"I know." With that, Sara exited the office. It had been a rather unreasonable request anyway. She strode slowly away, going to tend to other patients, people she _could_ help.

* * *

According to a surgical nurse, the surgery had taken nearly eight hours. He was still in the ICU, although stable. Sara had been on her way out, having swapped her professional clothes and white coat for jeans, a plain blue shirt, and a dark wool jacket to counteract the frosty February weather, when she saw two doctors exiting the room that (rumor had it) was his. She stopped, and watched the doctors saunter away from his room and towards the nurses' station. No doubt they were off to brag about landing such a desired case. _Maybe just one look, really quickly, _Sara reasoned. _It might not even be him. Carrol wasn't even sure yet, and I haven't heard anything new. I'll sleep a lot better tonight knowing one way or another._

Having convinced herself, Sara's curiosity got the better of her and she made her way away from the doors to the outside world and towards the room. Although not outright sneaking, she tried to avoid drawing attention to herself. Especially considering the fact that Carrol had explicitly told her not to go near him, it would not go well for Sara if she were seen. Her civilian clothes should have given her away like a sore thumb in the Intensive Care Unit, considering the fact that visiting hours had ended hours ago, but fortunately for Sara, the floor was nearly deserted at this time of night. The vast majority of the staff had gone home for the day, leaving behind an area void of people except for the nurses and occasional doctor, all of whom were too absorbed in their own work to notice the woman who was trying very hard to look as though she belonged.

Sara hesitated outside of his door, trying to envision what she might find behind it. According to the rumors, there had been a car accident, but her profession had ingrained in her that the severity of car accidents varied greatly. He might be completely fine, aside from a little bit of internal bleeding which the surgery would have repaired, or he might be inches from death, his body so traumatized by the experience that he couldn't carry on much longer. She knew, especially if it was the latter, that he might not look like himself, might not _be_ himself. For a moment, Sara didn't think she could handle entering. A few shaky breaths and a mental pep talk later however, she twisted the handle and bravely opened the door.

As the door quietly shut, Sara's eyes sought his face first. It was battered, certainly; bruised and swollen and scraped up, but nothing that time couldn't fix. A plain white cast occupied his left wrist. His head had been recently shaved to make way for the large bandage currently adhered to the back of his head. She noticed that there were numerous machines; so many machines attached to one person was generally never a good sign. The machines monitoring his vital signs beeped rhythmically, the only sounds except for a thin, raspy sound that could only be the sound of air entering and exiting his lungs. This one alerted the world that his heart, although beating slowly, was still beating while another recorded every shallow breath he drew.

She stared at him for several long, painful minutes, as though paralyzed and unable to move, unable to stand the knowledge of how much hurt this must (or would) be causing him. He wasn't awake yet, and for that she was grateful. His unconscious state meant that he felt no pain. Not yet, anyway. She was valiantly fighting tears now, as her hand found his hand. She laced her fingers delicately through his. Sara wasn't sure if it was more for his comfort or for hers; for a moment, she lost herself in a horrible daydream as she envisioned just how this had happened. A few rogue tears made their way down her face, and a nauseous feeling welled up in her stomach as Sara silently and desperately tried to absorb all of this.

It was so strange for her to see him like this. Lying there on the hospital bed he looked so weak, so broken. So vulnerable. Not moving. Barely breathing, barely living. Not himself. Sara's heart insisted that this damaged man couldn't be him, but her brain proclaimed the opposite.

_Oh, Michael, what have you gotten yourself into?_

_

* * *

_Please review! 


	2. Don't Expect An Easy Answer

Chapter 2: Don't Expect An Easy Answer

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I own nada.

A huge thanks to all the people who reviewed the last chapter: Sianne Kirsty, arethesemyfeet, Wheldie, Crazy-Shipper, MiSa-PizVe, CylentWind, milZ88, the anonymoush reviewer, and Laura. Right now, I'm planning for this to not be more than ten chapters. I don't have very much of it written yet, so it's hard to give a good estimate, but I want this to be kind of short. Hopefully everything fits into ten chapters. I'll let you all know when we're getting close to the end, of course.

There's a big twist in this chapter. I did some research, and I think I have all the medical stuff right, but I'm not a doctor, so it may be a little wrong.

Reviews are always welcome!

* * *

Sara was running as fast as she could, sprinting through the hospital, no doubt attracting the stares and attention that just minutes ago she had strived so hard to avoid. She wasn't thinking properly, but the wild notion occurred to her that perhaps her fight-or-flight instincts were taking over. And then she realized that she was running towards the nearest bathroom, because everything she'd eaten all day was about to come back up. 

Sara barely made it to a toilet before vomiting. One hand vaguely pushed her hair out of her face as she retched. Even once there was nothing left in her stomach, Sara lingered there in the protection of the stall. She sat on the ground and leaned against the wall, trying very hard not to think about how germ-infested the bathroom floor undoubtedly was. That's when the tears hit her.

As a doctor, Sara had seen more devastation of human bodies than most. It no longer affected her the way it once had, when she was idealistic and fresh out of medical school. Over the years, Sara had developed a little bit of immunity for it, a numbness. She found that if she kept the patients at a distance, if she tried not to care too much, it was easier to handle. She'd had to; otherwise she never would have made it as a doctor.

But it was entirely different when the patient was someone Sara loved.

Her and Michael had only admitted their love once, on a train, but Sara had felt it for quite some time by then. She could see it in how he looked at her, feel the warmth of it in her body when her thoughts touched on him. Even now, after two years, the sight of him lying in a hospital bed, battered and injured, invoked that same sensation. She wanted to wrap her arms around him again, wanted him to hold her in return and tell her that it would be all right.

Because in the moments that she spent in his room, seeing him again for the first time in so long, her life such as it was had come crashing down around her. Again.

They hadn't been able to find each other. Sara had become separated from the brothers, and hadn't found a way to meet up with him. First it was too dangerous, because they were still on the run, but even when they had beaten the Company and the legal ramifications of their actions had faded way, they didn't meet up again. They hadn't made contact of any kind, leaving Sara to assume that he had moved on and after everything they had been through, she couldn't blame him. She had accepted that. But now, even after all this time, it _hurt_ her to see him lying there, so damaged.

The effects of the anesthesia wouldn't have worn off yet, and even then, with a head injury like his, they would probably keep him asleep for a few days anyway. She had time, then, to figure out how to handle this. Sara rubbed her eyes lightly with her sleeve, and then slowly stood and exited the stall. She wiped the last of the bile off her face, sloshed some water around in her mouth to free herself of the taste, and headed back out. Sara didn't have a clear memory of what happened next, but she must have somehow gotten herself home because she came back to herself just in time to collapse onto her bed in exhaustion.

* * *

It took nearly five days for her to find an opportunity to see him again, and her only source of information until then were the chatty interns who were oblivious to her motives. According to them, Michael had made vast improvements in those five days. They didn't know enough to be able to answer Sara's most pressing questions ("Is he awake? Is there brain damage?"), but their limited information was better than none. She couldn't sneak in a visit to Michael herself because Dr. Carrol seemed to be a keeping a closer than usual eye on Sara, and then she had two days off, during which if anyone saw her at the hospital, it would only raise questions. 

Early on her first day back, however, Sara found that she would have a chance to see him then, because Carrol would be occupied and therefore not breathing down her neck. She learned that Carrol had a meeting scheduled for first thing in the morning. Sara arrived a few minutes early for work, to ensure that she didn't miss her opportunity. She tried not to spend any more time getting ready to go to the hospital that day, but somehow couldn't resist trying on three different outfits before finding one she was happy with, and tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing more make-up than usual.

By the time she got to the hospital, visiting hours had just begun, although not many visitors had arrived yet. Sara immediately went and poked her head into Carrol's office, to confirm that her boss was busy.

"Excuse me, is Dr. Carrol in?" Sara asked the secretary.

"I'm sorry, she's in a meeting. I can page her, if you like." The young secretary replied courteously, continuing to type fervently.

"Ah, no thanks." Sara responded, before walking briskly away, making her way directly to Michael's room.

She didn't hesitate this time, before entering; Sara knew what to expect now. He looked noticeably better than he had when she first saw him again. His face was beginning to heal, leaving him more recognizable than he had been five days ago, and there were considerably fewer machines attached to him now, although he was apparently still unconscious. Sara snatched up his charts, flipping through the pages to see what kind of progress he was making and how the diagnosis had changed.

"Hello?" He said groggily, causing Sara to almost jump out of her skin.

"Michael!" Once she recovered from her surprise she rushed to his side. "Are you okay?" _Okay, stupid question. He's in my hospital, of course he's not okay! _"What happened? How long have you been awake?" There was a barely perceptible pause in her questioning. "Never mind. You know what? The only thing that matters is that you're okay, and you're here now." Sara slid one hand into his and rested the other carefully on the side of his face. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes again, tears of happiness that they had finally found each other again.

"I'm sorry, but… who are you?" He inquired.

Sara stared at him, utterly confused. "Are you trying to be funny?" She wanted to know, after a brief silence.

"I think you've made some kind of mistake." Michael responded, still sounding as though he was coming out of a fog.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite know who you are." He said, his tone revealing a hint of embarrassment now. For a terrifying moment, Sara thought that perhaps this was not her Michael. Maybe this had all been some sick mix up, and this wasn't Michael Scofield. Sara didn't think she could stand that. After all this time, thinking that she had found him again, only to have it torn away from her like leaves in a gust of wind. But Carrol had thought this was him, right? Plus she could see the edge of a tattoo on his collarbone where his hospital gown had shifted. He sounded like himself. This had to be him. Of course it was him. Thinking otherwise was just ridiculous. So why didn't he recognize her?

"It's me, Michael! Sara."

"I-" Michael was cut off by the abrupt opening of the door to admit an angry doctor.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" The doctor demanded furiously, storming into the room. He snatched Michael's charts out of Sara's hands. "Dr. Carrol told you to stay out!"

"I'm sorry, I just-" Sara tried to explain.

"Get out of this room, now!"

"Michael, it's me! Don't you remember anything?" Sara ignored the doctor, choosing instead to plead with Michael, as though this was something he had any control over.

"I don't-"

"Dr. Tancredi, out now!" The other doctor yelled, grabbing her arm.

"Michael, please!"

"I can't remember any-"

"Tancredi, now!"

"Michael!"

Michael only gasped, abruptly unable to breathe properly. Suddenly one of the machines started beeping wildly. Several nurses rushed in.

"Get her out, now!" The doctor handed Sara off to a nurse, who effectively forced her out. Sara watched through the small window as the staff attached an oxygen mask to his face and instructed for him to take deep, slow breaths.

"Dr. Tancredi!" Dr. Carrol's voice sliced through the air like a knife. Sara whirled around. "My office, now!" Sara nodded obediently, still watching Michael.

* * *

As the door was angrily yanked open, Sara flinched. She didn't turn around, but knew that a furious Dr. Carrol had just entered. 

"What the hell were you doing?" Carrol demanded, scarcely seconds after the door slid shut, confirming Sara's conclusions. "I specifically told you to stay away from Scofield, and you deliberately disobeyed me! Explain yourself!"

"I wanted to see him. I wanted to know that he was okay." Sara replied softly, feeling like a teenager who'd been caught cheating on an exam.

"Because of the stress and excitement you caused, he started hyperventilating!" Carrol snapped, massaging her temples with her fingers. She sighed. "I should have had him transferred to St. Mary's when I remembered the connection between you two."

"Dr. Carrol, is he okay?" Sara wanted to know.

"They got him to call down and breathe properly again, so it doesn't look like this stunt of yours is going to end up finishing him off." Carrol answered. She paused. "But the only thing Scofield's said since recovering from that is that he wants you to be his doctor, and he's refusing to talk to anyone else. Stubborn ass." Sara sat very still, barely breathing, in hopes that Carrol would oblige Michael. "We don't really have a choice; if we're going to help him, he has to talk." Internally, Sara was dancing for joy. "But there are rules for this. You are to treat him _just like any other patient_. Like you are _any other doctor_. No talking about what happened before; save that for outside the hospital. You are to be professional, and courteous at _all_ times. Pretend you don't know him at all, if it helps."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Sara stated bitterly. "When I spoke to him before, briefly, he didn't remember me."

"His tests indicate retrograde amnesia."

"Amnesia?" 

"Retrograde amnesia, yes." Carrol responded, glancing at his file. "It's fairly common among car accident victims who sustain head injuries. He doesn't remember much if anything about his life before the accident. It usually goes away, but the time frame varies: some cases take days, others weeks, others months."

"He'll get better, though?"

"That's what's expected." The other doctor replied. "We've observed no anterograde amnesia, which is rare, but good. That is all."

"Thank you, Dr. Carrol." Sara said, standing.

"It's not for you. It's for the patient. There will be consequences for disobeying me, Dr. Tancredi." Carrol vowed. Sara nodded, and continued out.

* * *

By dawdling a little bit with her other patients, Sara managed to avoid seeing him again for several hours. At some point, however, she knew that she would have to check up on him. It was not an experience that she was looking forward to. Pouring her thoughts out and losing control earlier had been embarassing for her, to say the least. Seeing him again would be awkward, she knew, and would probably only mortify her further. 

But she would get to see him again. Even as he was now, unable to remember anything, she wanted to be with him. Even if when he remembered everything, if he recalled that he had indeed moved on from her, she still cared for him now. So after an only slightly lengthy lunch break, Sara found herself outside his door again, clipboard in hand. After three deep, calming breaths, she knocked once and twisted the handle.

"Mr. Scofield." She said as she stepped in, feigning confidence. As her patient, it would not do for him to see her at anything less than her best.

"Dr. Tancredi." Michael replied, eyes boring into hers. She glanced down, not at all in the mood for the inscrutable expression on his face. Sara had no patience for that sort of thing today, just wanting to know what he was thinking, right then.

Of course, his mysteriousness was one characteristic that she had liked about him. She usually liked the guessing, the uncertainty. It made things... well, exciting. She liked that she could never predict what he would do, or what he would say. Or what he was thinking. Their first kiss had been the product of that. The kiss had come out of nowhere, an anomaly. Sara had thought they were having a moment, sure. And yes, she had thought about kissing him before. But for them to kiss then in the infirmary then had been unexpected. Spontaneous. Addicting.

Sara cleared her throat, simultaneously attempting to clear her thoughts. "How do you feel?" She asked, trying to maintain her professional attitude. Her gaze was intent on the clipboard, and her hand was poised to write down his response.

"I do seem to have this problem." He started.

Sara glanced up at him over the top of her clipboard. "Oh?"

"Yeah. See, its my head. It hurts, and I can't seem to figure out why." Michael explained. She stared at him for a moment, before the familiar, wry smirk (if smirks can be wry) appeared on his face, indicating that he was trying to be funny. The expression was rather distorted, of course, because his face was still somewhat swollen from the crash, but in her eyes, it lost none of its charm. "It smarts a bit, but I think the painkillers you've got me on probably take the edge off of it."

"Probably."

"It's strong." He said. "The morphine, I mean."

"Yeah." Oooh, morphine. It hadn't occurred to her that morphine might take the edge off _her_ problems, too. _I guess that says something about where I am, now, _Sara thought. "You had major surgery on your brain. Pain is a common side effect." She paused. "Any dizziness? Tingling? Nausea?"

"No, no, and no." Michael replied.

"Have you remembered anything?"

"No."

Sara made a few notes on the clipboard, and looked back up at him. He was still watching her, and that unnerved her a bit. "That's all for now. I'll come back later. A neurologist should be by soon, too." She said, setting the paper down.

"All right." Michael said. She turned, and walked to the door. "Before you go, though…" Sara twisted back around. "You know who I am, don't you?"

"Mr. Scofield, I-"

"Michael."

"Michael, I-"

"What about earlier?" Michael inquired.

Sara's face flushed slightly. She was painfully aware of how closely he was watching her. "Michael, I am your doctor. I am supposed to treat you like any other patient in this hospital, and that is exactly what I am going to do."

He held up one hand, indicating for her to be quiet. "Earlier, you seemed convinced that you know me. Ah, quite well."

"Look, can we just… pretend earlier never happened?" Sara muttered, an embarrassed blush creeping unto her face.

"Do you know who I am?"

Carrol's words echoed through her mind. _Pretend you don't know him at all._ She was already in too much trouble from getting caught sneaking in to see Michael to disobey her boss again by answering him. "I have some paperwork to do." Sara stated firmly to evade the question, before turning and leaving his room. Behind her, Michael sighed in frustration, running his hands over his head agitatedly.

Sara dropped off some of the aforementioned paperwork at the nurse's station moments later. "I'm going to go get some coffee." She informed the secretary there. "I'll be back in ten."

"At quarter to one in the afternoon?" The secretary glanced up. Then she shrugged, remembering that it was none of her business. "When you get back, there's a woman here to talk with you."

She frowned, unable to think of who it could be. "Who is it?"

"I dunno. Said she was with Channel 6."

Sara sighed. She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Please review :) 

The next chapter probably won't be up for a little bit, because I'm _really_ busy during the week.

On a side note, retrograde amnesia is what Jason Bourne, of the Bourne Identity/Supremacy, had.


	3. Take Me As I Am

Chapter 3: Take Me As I Am

Another thanks to the people who have reviewed; reviews make my day.

* * *

Sara returned from her coffee break approximately ten minutes after she left. _Channel 6, was it? _She thought, glancing around the floor in search of her mystery guest. When she didn't instantly see the woman, Sara turned to the nurses' station again. "Do you know where the woman from Channel 6 went?" She asked the secretary who had first informed her of the visitor.

"I think she stepped into C312." The secretary replied. "Is it really Michael Scofield in there?"

Sara didn't reply because she was too busy practically running to Michael's room. A reporter in this situation could only be bad. In the time since the escape and the exposure of the company, Michael and Lincoln had become something of media obsessions. Journalists across the nation couldn't seem to resist their drama, and they appeared on everything from tabloids to talk shows. The tabloid buzz had largely died down since then, fortunately, but the rest of the press remained hooked. Somehow word must have leaked that Michael had been hospitalized, causing Channel 6 to send someone to investigate. Michael, of course, would not be able to tell them anything about what had happened because he didn't remember. But the media would have a field day with the amnesia. Not to mention how it would confuse him; confusion was the last thing he needed now.

Sara opened his door and stepped in smoothly, not at all surprised to see that Michael was not alone in his room. A short, stocky woman with tightly curled hair was sitting in the plastic chair, scribbling into a small notepad. "And what happened then?" She asked.

Michael glanced up, and saw Sara standing in the doorway. "Dr. Tancredi." He nodded in acknowledgment.

"Who are you?" Sara asked, crossing her arms.

"Linda Ambers, Channel 6 News." The woman replied abruptly. "I'd love to get your take on all of this, Dr. Tancredi. Is it awkward seeing Michael Scofield again after all this time?"

Sara stepped further into the room, trying to conceal her displeasure with the woman's presence. "Who gave you permission to be in here?" Sara inquired.

The reporter laughed. "It's visiting hours, isn't it? Anyone can come. Plus Mr. Scofield said he didn't mind."

Sara turned to Michael, who shrugged. "She only wanted to ask a few questions." He answered her unspoken question.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ambers, but I need you to step out for a little while." Sara said, deciding that it was time to change some of Michael's dressings.

"Oh, I only have a few more questions, surely-"

"_Now_." Sara repeated. The reporter took the hint, and stood.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Scofield." She said, giving him a toothy grin. "I'll be in touch." The woman glanced quickly over her notes once more before sliding them into her purse and fleeing the room in fear of Sara.

"She really wasn't doing any harm." Michael said, as Sara gently pulled a bandage off his arm.

She lifted her eyes slightly, to meet his, before returning her attention to his wounds. "You're still very injured, Michael. We don't want you to over-exert yourself." A moment of silence ensued. Sara involuntarily remembered the days in the infirmary. He'd commented once on how she always patched him up, as she tended to a cut on his head. It was somewhat ironic that after all of this, she was still doing just that.

"I have tattoos." Michael stated randomly, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Oh?"

"All over my upper body." He added. "I knew they were there, I saw them obviously, but I didn't really pay them any attention before the reporter asked about them."

"Mmm."

"Sara?" He paused, almost imperceptibly, as though uncertain about her. Do you know why I have these?" Michael lifted his good hand to better show her his ink. Sara started to give an evasive reply, but he cut her off. "Because based on what I know about myself- which, I'll admit, isn't much- I don't think I'm the kind of person who would have so many tattoos."

Sara glanced up at him again, pausing in her work. If she didn't know better, she'd say that was fear in his eyes and in his tone. "The tattoos are the least of your concerns, Michael." She said finally, trying to assuage his fears without talking too much about the past. Sara certainly couldn't tell him the real reason he had his tattoos; that would definitely violate Carrol's rule. "And it's Dr. Tancredi." Sara wouldn't fall for that again.

"Right. Dr. Tancredi." Michael repeated. He didn't sound any more relaxed, but Sara noted that he no longer looked afraid, which she took as a good sign.

"If any more reporters come, it would be a good idea for you to not talk to them." Sara added a moment later, continuing her work on his arm.

"Why would more come?"

"I don't know that they will. But in case they do…"

"Why shouldn't I talk to them?" He wanted to know. "They're the only ones besides you who really talk to me. Everyone else-the nurses, the other doctors- treat me like I'm completely alien. They don't know what to same to me, so they don't say anything." She resisted rolling her eyes at his question, although she permitted herself a soft sigh; she should have known better than to try and tell him what to do without giving an explanation.

"Just trust me, Michael?" She replied, trying not to sound as though she was begging, which she was. It wouldn't help matters any to let him know that though.

"Why should I trust you?" Michael demanded, maintaining a neutral tone.

"I beg your pardon?" She looked up at him, and found him staring at her.

"I have retrograde amnesia, remember? I don't know anything, or anyone, including you." He answered, tone not accusing, just bitter.

Sara finished with the bandage, and stood up. She took a few quick steps to a trash can and deposited the used supplies. "What you just said? That's exactly why you shouldn't talk to the press." Sara said, pulling her gloves off and dropping them in also.

As she walked out, she could feel him continuing to stare at her.

* * *

Sara didn't come back again that day, and postponed a visit to his room until after lunch the following day. The consequences of the reporter were revealed in the six o'clock news, the morning paper, and a national morning newscast. It seemed the whole country now knew that Michael was not only in Chicago, but an amnesiac. There was no excessive conversation between them; it was somewhat uncomfortable between them; he knew that she had all the answers he wanted, but wouldn't tell him, and Sara wasn't sure what to say to him either. Sure, she'd had two years to figure out what she would say to him, when and if they ever met again. But all those confrontations had involved him knowing what she was talking about. His amnesia prevented her from speaking her mind, and left her with little else to say. Sara almost wished that he hadn't come to her hospital. Without his memory, she would get no closure, and that was all she wanted now. 

She noticed that he seemed antsy, however. It revealed itself in small ways: the way his eyes wandered as she inspected his healing injuries and the way he drummed his fingers on the mattress. Perhaps nobody but Sara, who knew him so well, would have perceived this. "You seem restless today." She remarked, calling him on it.

He brought his eyes up to meet hers, seeming to come a long ways to do so. "It's nothing." Michael insisted.

Sara shrugged. "If you say so."

There was silence for a few moments as Sara had him lean forwards so she could look at the long line of stitches on his skull. As he resettled against the pillows, he said, "I'd never thought of it this way before –to the best that I can remember. But suddenly hospitals seem to have a lot in common with what I imagine prison would be like."

Sara snapped her gloves off. "What makes you say that?"

"This room. It's not much bigger than a cell." He gestured around the room.

"It has a window." Sara pointed out. "Plus you could leave, if you really wanted."

"It would be suicide for me to leave now. I know that. Knowing that I _can't_ leave, for whatever reason, is disturbing. I'm as much a prisoner here as a serial killer in a jail." He paused. "Plus where would I go, anyway?"

Sara shrugged. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. I'd like to place a complaint about the culinary offerings here." Michael replied after a moment, grinning faintly. She knew that he had sensed that he had gone too far, had seen how uneasy talk of prison made her, and that he was trying to lighten the mood now. Not at all unlike how he used to be, back at Fox River. She would be trying to have a serious conversation, about him needing to behave in a way more befitting of a con and not an upstanding citizen while imprisoned, and he would make comment on something his cell mate did, or the weather, or question her personal life.

Sara smiled lightly, to humor him; the expression didn't reach her eyes, but she was trying. "You're still recovering from surgery. You're not quite up to a five course meal." Sara paused. "Don't think too much on it. Prison, I mean. You'll only stress yourself out, and that's the last thing your body needs right now." She suggested, standing.

"I'll try." He vowed, matching her smile.

"Someone will be by to check on you later." Sara said, striding to the door.

"You?" His one-word question was unexpected, but even more unexpected was the trace of nearly concealed hope in his careful tone. It made her a little less unhappy that he was here again.

Sara smiled again; a real one this time. "Maybe."

* * *

At half past four, Dr. Sterron stepped into her office, uninvited. "How's he doing?" He asked. Sterron was the neurologist that was looking after Michael, and the doctor who had tried to remove Sara from Michael's room shortly after she learned he didn't remember her. He was a good doctor, if a bit of a shrewd personality. 

Sara barely looked up. She was busy with a file. "Uh, vitals are stable, no infection, MRI shows fractures are healing normally." Was her short reply.

"He'll be ready to be moved soon, then." Dr. Sterron commented in response. This caught Sara's attention.

"Moved?" She echoed, surprised.

"You know he can't stay here forever, Tancredi. We need that bed."

"Moved to where?" Sara wanted to know, brushing a tendril of hair out of her face. The paperwork now lay forgotten on her desk. It wasn't really very important anyway.

Sterron shrugged. "A rehab center, if his insurance will cover it. If not, he can go home. The retrograde amnesia will go away as he gets better. All he needs is time."

"He doesn't know where home is, Dr. Sterron." She pointed out.

"Not my problem. Not yours, either."

"Have you contacted the family? They should have been contacted any, but they might be able to help."

"We looked, but no one with the name Scofield."

"What about his brother?" Sara suggested.

"What brother?"

"Lincoln Burrows. They escaped from prison together, remember? A couple years ago?" Sara tried to jog his memory, since he clearly had no idea what she was talking about. The doctor obviously didn't look try very hard to find any family.

Sterron lifted his shoulders, then let them drop in an exaggerated shrug. "I was a resident a few years ago. I didn't have time for current events. Why don't you call him, then, since you know so much?"

A few minutes later, when the other doctor had gone, Sara logged on to the Internet server provided for the staff by the hospital, and after a few moments of searching, she figured out where Lincoln had gone. She suspected that she probably could have found his number on the Internet also, but that was stalker-like behavior, so she opted to just call the San Diego information number. From there, an operator connected her.

"You've reached the Burrows' house. Please leave a message." It was Lincoln's voice on the brief, apathetic recording.

"Lincoln, this is Sara Tancredi. Michael was in a car accident. He's at St. Joseph's, in Chicago. Give me a call as soon as you can." Sara stated in a monotonous tone. How many times had she delivered that same message to complete strangers? A thousand, maybe? Why was it so much harder to give to Lincoln?

Sara sighed. She just hoped Lincoln got the message before it was too late.

* * *

Review please :) 


	4. We're Headed Somewhere

Chapter 4: We're Headed Somewhere

Wow, so this chapter is long. Over 5,000 words. More than double my average chapter. There just is a lot of stuff in this chapter, I guess... I really wanted it up yesterday, but as I was about to put it up, I realized that something big was missing. So it's up today, and it's really long.

I'm actually pretty nervous about this one. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break.

* * *

If she was awake for it, two o'clock in the morning was always a hard time for Sara. As a single woman, it was often a lonely hour. It was dark. It was quiet, nearly silent. Which is all well and good, if she could sleep. But now, glancing at the clock, Sara was painfully aware of the fact that it was, once again, two in the morning. She used to get high a lot, at this hour. It was easy, if she had the drugs. Now, there was nobody to notice- no bosses pondering her absence, no worried colleagues, no one who wanted her to share the morphine. At two in the morning, all her problems seemed magnified. Perhaps it was the darkness, maybe the quiet or the loneliness, or none of those. 

Right now though, Sara knew it was the loneliness. There was nobody for her to confide in now; or, for that matter, at any time of day. Having few friends was finally costing her. The only person she half-trusted was lying on a cot in her hospital, an IV attached to his arm, unable to remember that he knew her at all. She could sure use somebody to talk to, anybody at all. But there was no one, no one who had been through everything she had been, no one who could tell her that everything would be all right.

Sara had a whole slew of problems right now. There was the fact that Michael Scofield was back in her life, although he couldn't remember anything. His amnesia presented another problem; how was she supposed to treat him? Like any other patient? That makes no sense, because he's not any other patient, he's Michael. Like Michael, then? No, can't do that either, because not only would Carrol be furious, he's not Michael. He can't remember anything that makes him Michael, including her. And, Sara felt that if anyone told him his past, Lincoln should be the one to do it. To some extent, it didn't matter what she did, because Michael was going to remember everything at some point, it was only a matter of when.

And then there was the fact that Sara was having to try very, very hard to keep herself from feeling the exact same things that had led her to leave the infirmary door open and then jump bail. Even thinking about them made her slightly dizzy. Maybe if Sara didn't scrutinize them, the emotions would go away.

All Sara need was somebody to talk to about all this, but nobody could understand. And so, she was awake until five, when she finally dozed off. Going into work on three hours of sleep was hardly ideal, but neither was staying home in hopes of napping on and off in fifteen-minute spells all day. She seemed to recall a similiar phenomenon back at Fox River, when she first met the conniving and charming Michael Scofield; she'd had to drink a lot of coffee then to stay on top of her game too.

* * *

"You've reached the Burrows' residence. Leave a message." The cold recording had become redundant a few dozens tries before this one, but since she had not yet received a response or any other indication that Lincoln had heard her message Sara felt obligated to continue trying. 

"Linc, this is Sara. Again. I really need you to call me immediately." Sara stated. She slammed the phone back onto the receiver in frustration, and placed one hand on her forehead. It had been three days now since her first call, and she'd gotten no response, no indication that he had received her messages.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten in the morning. She could go see Michael now; he wouldn't be sleeping anymore. Sara stood and left her office, making her way across the floor to his room. She had been spending more time with Michael than her other patients, but that was understandable. Even the other doctors recognized the fact that if Michael Scofield was in their care, they would spend some extra time with him too, so nobody commented on it. Perhaps they would have if they had known the full extent of her visits: Sara had taken to having her lunch with him, and frequently visited after officially clocking out. Both of those activities violated unwritten hospital rules, but Sara was careful, and no one noticed. She went to the extra trouble for Michael out of pity. Sara felt bad about the fact that he had no one to socialize with whatsoever (the hospital couldn't put him in a double room with a roommate because of his semi-celebrity status), and she knew that he got bored during the day.

She rapped her knuckles on the door quickly, and entered. "Good morning, Michael." Sara said, making a beeline for his charts.

"Morning, Sara. Dr. Tancredi." Michael corrected himself quickly, glancing up from his crossword puzzle, which Sara noticed he was doing in pen.

"Confident about your crossword?" Sara asked.

"Maybe." Michael replied, a cryptic smile on his face. "What's a nine-letter word for a clinic?"

"Infirmary." Sara answered automatically, picking up his charts.

"I knew you would know that."

She peered up at him over her clipboard. "I am a doctor, Michael."

He shook his head. "No, it's something more than that. I _knew_ you would know. Is that a good sign?"

"Maybe." She replied, knowing that he was thinking that maybe he was starting to remember things. "Or it could just mean that I'm a doctor, and I know more than one word for clinic. Your vitals look good." Sara added, changing the subject quickly. Talking about infirmaries too much would make her remember things she was trying to forget.

"Good enough to be allowed to leave?"

She glanced up at him quickly in surprise, before looking back down. Since Dr. Sterron's initial comments about discharging Michael, the issue hadn't been brought up again but Sara knew it wouldn't be much longer. "You got someplace to be?" She asked dryly. Michael didn't reply, just sending a smirk her way. "That's what I thought."

"This room," He said. "It feels smaller."

Sara glanced up again. "Smaller?" She echoed, glancing around. Michael shrugged. "It's just as big as it's always been. Probably just one of the drugs."

"Yeah." He agreed, seeming reassured.

"Well, you seem good, so if there's nothing else, I'll be back later." Sara finished writing and slid her ball point pen back into her coat pocket.

"See you then." He acknowledged her leaving, and returned to his crossword puzzle.

Sara nodded absentmindedly on her way out. Physically, Michael was making vast improvements everyday. His wounds were healing normally and with no complications, aside from the fact that his amnesia was still with him. Very soon he would be ready to leave, and what would happen then, she didn't know. Michael would leave the hospital, obviously, but what then? Would he wander around until he remembered and then go home? Suppose he didn't ever remember? What if something happened to him before he remembered? What was going to happen to her should be far more important to Sara. She was likely to lose her job over her actions; that should be paramount. Carrol was still furious about what had happened, and that wasn't likely to change in the next couple of days. What would happen when she was released? Where would she go? Sara should probably start looking at other places-hospitals, offices, clinics-to work at. Should she even stay in Chicago?

She shook her head. She knew she didn't need to make any decisions now, so it was pointless to try to choose now.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and cloudy, except for a few thin beams of sunlight that somehow snuck past the clouds as Sara was walking into work at quarter to eight. She nodded in acknowledgement to one of the nurses she knew, and took a big swig of her coffee. The coffee and the dark circles under her eyes that she had tried to disguise with a little extra make-up indicated that it had been another nearly sleepless night. A short elevator ride later, Sara had arrived on her floor. It was a typical day, except for the sounds of someone shouting angrily over the calm assurances of a nurse. She shook her head slightly, and opted to go deposit her stuff in her office instead of investigating the disturbance. It was none of her business anyway. On her way to her office, she passed a teenager leaning lazily against a wall, stiffling repeated yawns with one hand _('probably skipping school to visit his girlfriend')._ He somehow managed to look embarassed and at the same time as exhausted as Sara felt, but she paid him no mind. In her small office, Sara set her purse down behind her desk and shrugged out of her warm jacket and into her white coat. She adjusted her hair slightly, before heading back out. Sara made for Michael's room; she had taken his complaints about the food to heart, and was smuggling him a blueberry muffin. She preferred to do this before visiting hours began at nine, to avoid drawing attention to the special treatment he was receiving. The teen was still outside her office, and the man was still yelling at the nurse, who appeared to be rapidly losing his calm. 

It wasn't until Sara was right outside Michael's door that she realized that the shouting voice was a familiar one. This realization caused her to turn sharply on her heel. She hadn't seen as much of Lincoln Burrows as of Michael, but she could still recognize his burly figure, and that was definitely him at the nurses' station.

"It's just _ten minutes_!" Lincoln shouted at the nurse as Sara rushed back to the desk. "He's my brother, damn it, let me see him!"

"Sir, no one is allowed in the rooms except staff until nine a.m., at which point visiting hours begin." The nurse snapped back. "And even if it was nine, we would not allow you in his room, not behaving the way you are, and not considering who he is!"

"He's my _brother_! Why can't you people just-"

"Sir, you will have to take this up with the department, I have work to do." The nurse stated firmly, deciding that he had had enough.

"Lincoln!" Sara called to get his attention away from the nurse as she approached. He whirled around, eyes searching for whoever had called his name. Eventually his gaze settled on her, and he visibly tensed, before relaxing.

"Finally, someone who knows how to do their job." Lincoln muttered, not wanting the nurse to have the last word. "Sara! Where is he?"

"He's fine." Sara assured him, placing both hands on his arm and steering him away from the counter and towards her office.

"I need to see him. Where is he?" Lincoln demanded, twisting; perhaps to get a better look around to see if Michael was visible or maybe just to get free of Sara's hold. She tightened her grip, not wanting him to go wreck more havoc than he already had.

"Lincoln, he's fine, I promise. I need you to come with me before you see him. I need you to trust me. I'll explain everything." Sara said, continuing to pull him.

"I need to see him." He repeated, still fighting her.

"Lincoln!" She snapped his name, to get his attention. "You need to come with me. He's fine!"

Lincoln was shaking his head. "He's not fine, not until I see him."

"He's not, or you're not?" Sara asked sharply. Lincoln had no reply to this, so he kept silent. They were almost at her office when the teenager straightened, a look of surprise on his face.

"Dad...?" He asked. Suddenly Sara placed him as LJ. Undoubtably, his father's scene at the desk had mortified him, so LJ had hidden away to not be associated with Lincoln. The teenager thinking almost made Sara laugh.

"LJ, this is Dr. Sara Tancredi." Lincoln introduced him, sounding a bit more level-headed now. "Sara, my son LJ."

"I know." Sara said, sending the younger Burrows a small smile.

"How?" Lincoln inquired, puzzled.

"We met once, years ago." She replied evasively. Sara would rather not talk about anything at Fox River right then, including the night Lincoln was almost electrocuted.

"Yeah." LJ supported her statements, leaving Lincoln more confused than before. Lincoln shrugged, before taking a seat in one of the chairs in her office. LJ claimed the other, and Sara sat down behind her desk. Everyone was silent for a moment, as Sara collected her thoughts and allowed Lincoln to finish calming down.

"How is he, Doc?" Lincoln asked finally, unable to wait any longer.

Sara shifted her gaze from her hands to his face. "He's doing good. How did you know to come?"

"Saw it on the news. LJ found it, actually, online." Lincoln replied, casting LJ a proud glance. LJ pretended not to notice; at eighteen, he was still too cool for parental affection.

"Did you get any of my messages?" She wanted to know.

"What messages?" LJ asked, looking lost. Lincoln's expression mirrored that, so Sara assumed the answer was no.

"What took you so long to get here?"

"We had to _drive_." LJ answered, before Lincoln could. "It took three freakin' days. Day and night." _'That explains why LJ is about to fall asleep now,' _Sara thought.

"Why didn't you fly?" She asked.

"Any flight would have stopped in Denver to refuel, but there was snow in there and nothing was going through." Lincoln responded. "How is he?"

"What do you already know?" She inquired.

Lincoln shrugged slightly. "He was in a car accident. That's it."

Sara exhaled slowly, suddenly feeling tired again. It would be very hard for Lincoln to learn about Michael's amnesia. "Michael's injuries were not as devastating as some car crash victim's are, and he is healing very well." She began. The fact that Lincoln was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white did not escape her attention. "He suffered some internal bleeding, broke his left wrist, cracked two ribs, and some cuts requiring stitches."

Lincoln sighed slightly, apparently in relief. "That's not too bad." He said. LJ shook his head in agreement.

"There's something else, though, Lincoln." Sara added, before hesitating. She hated this part of being a doctor. "He has retrograde amnesia also."

For a moment, the room was deathly quiet as Lincoln and his son tried to take this in. "Retro-whatever amnesia?" LJ asked eventually.

"Retrograde, yes." Sara corrected.

"Retrograde." He repeated it. "What does that mean?"

"It means that he doesn't remember anything from before the accident. He doesn't know who he is, where he's from, anything he's done. No memories, no relations. Nothing."

"Not even any of the-"

"No, not even that." Sara cut LJ off, not wanting to start talking about two years ago then. LJ nodded faintly, before looking pensive as though contemplating the full implications of Michael's condition. Lincoln hadn't yet responded, causing Sara to be a bit concerned. "Lincoln?" She asked, some of her worry seeping into her voice.

His head jerked up abruptly. "Is it... is it permanent?" Lincoln asked. Sara suspected that he was trying very hard to keep fear out of his tone.

She shook her head, smiling gratefully. "No, it's only temporary. It varies between individuals, depending on the severity of the trauma. Days, weeks, months. He'll remember everything, eventually."

"Eventually." Lincoln echoed. "So not yet."

"No, not yet." Sara replied.

"Can we see him?"

"Of course." Sara stood. "Would you like to go now?"

Lincoln also climbed to his feet. "Yeah." He turned to LJ. "LJ, I want you to stay here."

"I'm a big boy, Dad. I can handle it." LJ pointed out.

"I know. I want to go alone first, so we know what we're up against." Lincoln explained. LJ opened his mouth to protest, but gave up and slumped deeper into the chair.

Lincoln followed Sara out into the hallway, and across the floor to Michael's room. Lincoln peered through the small window. "I don't believe this." He said. "He's sitting there, doing a crossword puzzle like everything is perfectly normal."

Sara grinned faintly. "He's had more time to adjust to this than you have."

"That's true, I guess." Lincoln looked again. "He looks okay."

"He is. It's just his memory." Sara replied, crossing his arms.

"He really doesn't remember _anything_? Not Fox River, not me or Sucre, or you or the chase?" Lincoln asked.

Sara shook her head. "None of it. He will, though." To her surprise, Lincoln began to laugh. "What is it?"

"It's just that I seem to do a better job looking after him than he does. I mean, I got him all the way to college without any serious injuries, but when he's on his own, he manages to lose two toes, get a second degree burn, get in a car accident and wind up with amnesia." Lincoln explained, still chuckling. Sara couldn't quite manage to bring herself to laugh, but if it helped Lincoln cope, so be it.

"I'll go in first and make sure he's up to visitors." Sara stated, opening the door and walking in.

"Good morning Sara. Dr. Tancredi." Michael said, without glancing up. He knew that she was the only person who came to see him.

"'Morning, Michael." She replied, picking up his charts. "How are you feeling today?"

"Not bad. A little achy, but they took me off the last of the pain meds last night." Michael answered.

Sara noted this on his papers. "There's someone here to see you." She announced, watching him carefully.

This caused him to look up, startled. "Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking this over. "Who?"

"Your brother." Sara answered, sitting down on the end of his bed. His eyes followed her as she did so. Whether he knew it or not, Michael needed a visit from his big brother right then. Sara could recognize the fact that he was becoming increasingly frustrated with his condition, and nothing she said seemed to be helping. But also, Sara had read accounts of how terrifying it was to have amnesia, to have no idea who they were, or who to trust. It would help Michael greatly to know that there was somebody he could talk to and trust (besides Sara; she wasn't sure if Michael thought he could trust her).

"How do you know?"

"What?"

"How do you know he's my brother?" He repeated, patiently. "He could be anyone, just claiming to know me, and I'd never know. At least, not until the amnesia wears off."

"Michael, he's your brother." Sara stated assertively. She realized that Michael was watching her as carefully as she was watching him.

"How do you know?"

"I know from before." Sara admitted softly. "He's your brother. Your nephew is here too, but your brother is coming in alone first."

He was giving her that look again, that piercing gaze. She met it, unwaveringly. Finally, he nodded. "Send him in."

Sara patted his foot affectionately before standing. "His name is Lincoln." She offered, pausing at the door. Michael nodded again, and Sara stepped into the hall.

"He's ready." Sara said.

Lincoln took a deep breath, and let it out. He put a hand on the door handle, but then dropped it and turned back to Sara again. "Maybe this is a stupid question, I don't know, but is he still... is he the same?" Lincoln asked uncertainly.

Sara nodded. "He's still Michael. It's just his memory." She paused before continuing. "It's just Michael, Lincoln. He's not different or scary."

"All right." Lincoln accepted this, rubbed his hands together anxiously and opened the door, stepping into Michael's room. Sara watched through the window as Lincoln sat down on the uncomfortable plastic chair and rested his elbows on his knees. He cleared his throat, before beginning to talk. She couldn't hear what either of them said, but from what she could see, it seemed to be going well enough. After a minute, Sara realized that she was spying on them, so she walked away from the window. She wandered back to her office, and took LJ down to the cafeteria to get a much-needed cup of coffee.

* * *

"Dr. Tancredi?" The nurse's soft voice startled her out of her nap. Sara whipped her head up, the imprint of a paper clip on her face. Not falling asleep until five was really taking a toll on her. 

"Hmm?"

"It's, er, Mr. Scofield." The nurse replied, shifting her weight slightly from one foot to the other.

The nurse had her attention now. "What about him?" Sara asked, taking a quick sip from a coffee mug. She grimaced; she must have been out longer than she thought, as the coffee tasted like it was hours old.

"Well… It seems like something's off. I think you should check on him." The other woman responded.

Sara sighed. Couldn't Michael get by for a few hours without her? He had, after all, gotten by just fine for two years, all by himself. "I'll be there in a few minutes." She vowed, fixing her hair. When was the last time she'd fallen asleep at her desk?

After a few minutes, when she was more awake, Sara stood and walked across the floor to Michael's room. Before she even opened the door, when she could just see through the small window, Sara knew without a doubt that something was wrong. Sara pushed the door open and strode quickly in.

"Michael?" She asked immediately, needing to know if he was okay.

He was sweating, rather profusely for the temperature of the room. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, eventually coming to rest on the edge of his hospital gown. She couldn't tell whether or not he was deliberately twisting his fingers, or if they were twitching on their own; either way, not good. His eyes had been shut, but flew open as soon as she spoke.

"Sara…" He breathed her name, as though he had faith that she could magically correct the problem. Sara rushed over, checking his IV instinctively.

"I need you to tell me what's wrong, Michael." She concluded that nothing was wrong with his IV, or the rest of him, from what she could see.

"It's this room. It's getting smaller." He sounded like he was whining, like a four-year-old who had been deprived a nap. Sara knew him well enough to know that he wasn't just whining, that something had to be seriously wrong. She recognized tension in his voice too, and fear.

"Michael, I promise you, this room is exactly as big as it was earlier." Sara assured him, placing her stethoscope over his heart. He obediently took several deep breaths. "Where's Lincoln and LJ?"

"The cafeteria. It got worse, all of a sudden. It's like a cell." He insisted.

"What's worse?" Sara demanded instantly. "Michael, I need you to tell me."

"I know it can't be shrinking, but it is. The oxygen supply is going to run out, and then…"

Suddenly, she had an idea. "Do you have a history of claustrophobia?"

He gave her a strange look. "I don't know. Do I?"

After a brief hesitation, Sara replied. "No. Michael, I'm going to leave just for a few minutes. I'm going to find something for you to wear, and then we'll go for a walk, okay?" Sara said, setting one of her hands carefully on his to hopefully calm him down.

"Do you promise you'll come back?" Michael asked, mistrusting.

She placed her other hand on top of his, and met his intense gaze. "I promise." Sara held his gaze for a moment, before standing and going back outside. She returned moments later, a pair of scrub pants and Lincoln's coat in hand (Lincoln wouldn't be needing it). Sara unhooked Michael's IV-he could go without it for ten minutes- and stepped outside while he got dressed. Moments later, he emerged.

Sara perceived that he was noticeably more relaxed the instant they left his room, and continued to ease up as they walked. They strolled across the floor, almost entered the elevators- before Sara realized that if it was claustrophobia, an elevator ride, however short, would only worsen his condition- past the elevators to the stairs, and went down to the first floor. She led him through the expensive automatic doors to the courtyard. During warmer months, it was swarming with employees on their lunch breaks. But now, being the beginning of February and quite chilly, it was deserted. There was snow on all the benches, so Michael and Sara slowly wandered around the short, circular path.

"Why won't you tell me who I am?" Michael asked, breaking the silence that had dominated until then.

Sara glanced up at him, surprised. Of all the things she might have expected him to say right then, that was not one of them. She had thought that they were past this; that he had gotten over knowing that she knew more about him that he did, but apparently they weren't. "My boss told me not to." She replied softly. "But also, it's not my place."

"Would you tell me about us?" Michael requested, altering his tactics slightly.

"Us?" Sara echoed, unsure.

"Us." He repeated. "How you know me. How you know Lincoln."

"We… associated with each other, for a time." Sara replied, choosing her words carefully. This was definitely toeing the line, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to tell him no.

"How long a time?" Michael wanted to know, jamming his fists into his pockets in quiet frustration with himself. He wanted to remember everything. Something important was happening here, he could feel it, but he had no idea what. It had been almost two weeks now, damn it, and he felt he should have something to go off of by now.

"Not very long. But we went through a lot, in that time." She answered. '_That's the last one. The last question. No more.' _Sara vowed.

"Were we friends?" Michael inquired, stopping.

Sara turned to him. "We were friends." Sara admitted, looking down and biting her lip slightly. She was a little afraid of what she might see if she was looking directly at his face. '_I mean it this time. That was the last one._'

A hand entered her limited line of vision. It came to rest beneath her chin, and gently lifted her jaw until she was meeting his gaze. Sara decided that he must have stepped closer to her in the time she had been very deliberately not looking at him, because she was fairly certain that they had not been merely inches apart before. It was cold enough that whenever one of them breathed, a cloud of fog emerged, separating them a little further for a split second, before it vanished into the atmosphere, leaving them feeling physically nearer than before.

"Were we… close?" Michael spoke slowly, softly, emitting another cloud of smoke. As it began to dissipate, Sara sensed that she should get herself out of this situation, _now_, because she was very rapidly losing control, but her legs didn't seem to want to move. And then the fog broke up entirely, allowing them to see each other clearly again.

Sara wondered briefly if eyes like his were considered a super power, like super speed or strength, issued only to a super hero. Because certainly, if in the wrong hands (or rather, eye sockets), they could carry out all manner of evil deeds: able to control pretty doctors with a mere glance. They were so magnificently blue, so incredibly intense that with a small jolt, she realized that she couldn't look away now. Or maybe it was that she didn't want to. Either way, she was unable to move away, even if she wanted to do. Sara was aware that he was coming closer, slowly, as though moving only a few millimeters at a time. "We were close." Sara murmured, just before their lips met.

It was a terrible setting for such a significant kiss. There was only about an inch of snow on the ground, allowing the tips of the grass to poke up through it, giving the terrain a spotted appearance. No more heavenly flakes were falling from the gloomily gray sky, although a bone-chilling breeze whipped through the air. The only sounds were the faint whooshing of the automatic doors and the grating noises that inevitably accompany traffic, stemming from the busy road near the hospital. Neither of them was aware of any of this, however. For all they knew, they were the only two people left on earth.

For a moment, as they broke apart, they were silent. Sara broke this abruptly by asking, "How's your claustrophobia?"

"Much better." He replied with a small smile, which she returned uncertainly.

"We should head back, then." Sara suggested firmly, stepping away from him.

"Yes." Michael agreed. Together, they trudged back in silence, neither sure enough of themselves to even try to talk about what had happened.

When Michael was back inside his room and his IV was hooked back up, Sara retreated into her office. He was calm enough now that the room no longer seemed like a cell to him, and she had promised that he could get out of it a little more later. Sara wondered if his newfound claustrophobia was a result of his time in prison, or the stress after. She tried not to think about what had happened between them, but somehow, she couldn't banish the sensation of his lips against hers. But there were important questions that needed to be answer. Did he have someone, a girlfriend, fiancé, or wife back in San Diego? Had he replaced her? Or what if when he remembered everything, he didn't care about her anymore? Sara shuddered at the thought, and went to check on another patient.

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Please review :) 


	5. A Day Like Today

Chapter 5: A Day Like Today

A huge thanks to _all _of the reviewers for the last chapter. There were lots, and they were all great. :)

This chapter is painfully short. I guess that's what I get for writing 5000 on the last one, eh? I had some writer's block on this one, hence the delay. It's not even close to five thousand words; it's pretty far from 2000 also, which is the number I always try to beat. But I don't think I could get in to anything else this chapter, or it would be another week probably before it got up. On the plus side, I know exactly what I want to happen in the next chapter, and I'm going to start working on it as soon as this is up.

Please review this mini, fraction of a chapter!

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After a brief visit with Michael after he recovered from his fit of claustrophobia, Lincoln and LJ left to find a hotel nearby, and by the time Lincoln called to let Sara know they were settled, visiting hours were wrapping up. They'd invited her to dinner at a local restaraunt, one Sara had been at once before, but she declined. The past two weeks had been very trying for her, not to mention the fact that she hadn't been sleeping much at all, and as good as it might feel to be with people who understood a fraction of her problems, Sara didn't think she could bring herself to be social for two hours, so she chose to stay home instead. She reheated some leftovers, ate, and collapsed onto the couch in front of a made-for-tv movie. Sara didn't really watch it; the tv was more for background noise than anything else at this point. In a twisted way, it was sort of a metaphor for her life: lately, Sara felt as though the few moments she spend with Michael every day were all that counted, as though the rest of her life didn't matter. As though her life was just background noise to Michael. 

At some point, Sara realized that the movie had ended and an infomercial for the latest and allegedly greatest treadmill had begun. She felt around on her coffee table for the remote, and hit the power button. The television turned off, leaving the room silent and dark. Sara stood, and slowly walked back to her bedroom.

It didn't really hit her until five hours later, when she was laying on her bed, tangled in the sheets, that she _kissed_ Michael Scofield,_ again. _It was Michael. Her Michael. He was back. Okay, he didn't remember her, or anything about them, but as she had told Lincoln, he was still Michael. He was still Michael, and when she was with him, he still made her feel like she could float. But at the same time, Sara had very mixed feelings about the kiss. It was, of course, a good kiss- how could it not be? And yet Sara had some very serious reservations about being interested in Michael again. It hadn't gone so well the last time around, and what was to suggest it would be better now? There were still so many questions without answers, so many things they needed to talk about, but couldn't because Michael couldn't remember. He was Michael, but at the same time he wasn't. He didn't know her; he didn't even know himself. Michael didn't know their history. Sara hadn't mentioned the kiss to Lincoln, and she could only assume that Michael hadn't either. It wasn't any of Lincoln's business anyway, but it meant that she couldn't ask any of the questions he might be able to answer.

And what if he had replaced her? The last thing she wanted was to fix things between them only to find out that it didn't matter, because he belonged to someone else. Sara knew she couldn't take that. Falling for him-again- would be dangerous for her, because she would not be able to recover from losing him all over again. She had barely been able to cope with losing him the first time; the second would push her over the edge of reason. He had hurt her pretty badly two years ago. Sara knew that he had been busy and under enormous stress at the time, but she couldn't think of a single good reason for him to have not contacted her. Even a good-bye is better than waiting for the phone to ring for two, long years. No, she was still smarting from that blow; another reason not to be involved. It was terrible patient-doctor conduct. The list of reasons not to ever mention the kiss again could go on almost endlessly.

But she had kissed him back. Sara had not pulled away, like she maybe should have. That was a big reason why she couldn't sleep tonight. She had stayed, when she should have left. Even if Sara wasn't ready to confirm it to herself, she suspected the action signified that she still cared about him.

An hour later, when the alarm clock went off, Sara was still pondering the situation.

* * *

She rapped her knuckles on the door to announce her presence before opening the door and striding it. "Good morning, Michael." She said in greeting. Michael was her first patient this morning, largely because she needed to talk to him about what they had done. 

"Hello, Dr. Tancredi." He replied.

"Hey, Doc." The other voice startled her. Sara hadn't realized Lincoln was in the room as well.

"'Morning, Lincoln. I didn't see you there." Sara responded, heading Michael's charts. Her plan had been to talk first and be a doctor after, but with Lincoln there, obviously there could be no conversation about the day before. "Where's LJ?"

"Back at the hotel. He wanted to catch up on his sleep." The older man replied, rolling his eyes slightly as though he couldn't conceive how his son would rather sleep than spend time with Michael, especially when Michael needed them the most.

"That's how teenagers are, I guess." Sara remarked, smiling faintly and leafing through Michael's file.

"Yeah." Lincoln agreed.

"How are you feeling today, Michael?" She asked, realizing that Michael was being exceptionally quiet. Maybe he couldn't find anything to talk about except the kiss.

"The same." He answered, staring intently at her.

"That's good. Is anything coming back yet?" Sara wanted to know now.

Michael gave a frustrated sigh. "No. Nothing." He said in a voice laced with irritation.

"That's okay, Michael. It's just a matter of time." She replied, trying to sound soothing. Michael just continued to stare at her. "I can send someone to talk to you, if you want." Sara offered.

He shook his head, and shifted his gaze to the window. "No, that's all right. I'll manage."

Sara glanced at Lincoln, who shrugged. "Let me know if you change your mind. There's no reason for you to try to go through this alone." She said.

"I'm not going through this alone. I have Lincoln and LJ. And you." Michael pointed out.

"Let me know if you change your mind." Sara repeated, wanting to be certain that Michael knew counseling was an option, if he wanted it. "If there's nothing else, I'll be back later." She waited a moment more, but when neither Michael nor Lincoln spoke again, Sara turned and left the room. '_Well that was a little awkward.'_ She thought, heading off to check on another patient.

Sara walked past his room a few other times that morning, but Lincoln was there every time so she continued on. She figured it would be a little suspicious if she asked Lincoln to leave; then he would know something was up. Sara wasn't ready to tell anyone else about the kiss. She didn't even know if it meant anything. Since Lincoln seemed to always be in Michael's room, she planned to go talk to him when Lincoln went to find lunch. This plan failed however because Lincoln came out of Michael's room at half past twelve, wanting to know if it would be okay if Michael went with him and LJ (who had arrived a little after eleven) to the cafeteria. Sara reluctantly allowed it, as long as Lincoln promised not to let Michael overexert himself. When she came back from her own lunch, Lincoln had resumed his post in Michael's room, and didn't budge for the rest of the day except for a few short breaks that didn't leave enough time for her to talk to the amnesiac. Sara was sure he was just trying to be there for Michael, and even though it prevented her from having a much-needed conversation with Michael, she was glad Lincoln was there. He kept Michael company, and could maybe help ease his frustration about his memory loss. Sara meant what she said about sending someone to talk to him. In fact, she made a mental note to pay even closer attention to his behavior than usual, just to be on the safe side. Sara hadn't spoken to Lincoln yet about what they should do with Michael. He would be ready to go home soon, but they would need to look into rehabilitation for Michael, especially because he still didn't remember anything. That was nothing that couldn't be talked about tomorrow, and Sara sensed that it was better to let Lincoln adjust to the situation as it was, before heaping another responsibility on him.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way as the morning. It was painfully unfulfilling for Sara, because her desire to discuss what had happened between them with Michael had mushroomed in to desperation, and the opportunity to quench that want never appeared because Lincoln was _always_ in Michael's room. On her way home, it occured to Sara to swing by a twenty-four hour drugstore and pick up an over the counter drug to help her sleep. This bought her nearly four hours of sleep- not nearly enough to compensate for almost a week of deprivation, but it was definitely a start.

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See, I told you it was short. Please review! 


	6. Just When You Think You're In Control

Chapter 6: Just When You Think You're In Control...

A huge thank you to all of the people who reviewed the last chapter, even though it was positively dinky. They were great:)

This chapter is longer than the last, thank goodness. Hopefully you'll all enjoy it!

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_She was at the hospital, like usual. She had just returned from lunch, and it was now the time to go check on Michael. Hesitating only a few seconds in her office in front of the mirror, Sara quickly continued on to his room. She rapped her knuckles on the door to announce her presence, before entering. Sara drew up short when she realized the bed was made, and no one was in it. In fact, there was no sign that anyone had been in the room in a while. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to figure this out._

"_Dr. Tancredi." His voice was unmistakable. Sara whirled around and saw Michael standing behind her, the ironic smirk on his face._

_She realized he was wearing a tuxedo instead of his hospital gown. "What are you doing out of bed, 007?" Sara asked, a faint grin on her face proved she was teasing._

_His smirk melted into a smile, and he placed both of his hands gently on her arms, just above her elbows. Sara decided that none of the answers mattered very much as he leaned in, bringing his lips to meet hers…_

"… Road crews are already preparing for the snow showers, which are expected to begin three days from now, on Thursday. Up to a foot of snow is expected in the Chicago area. I'm Angela, and that was your traffic and weather. We'll be right back." The radio DJ finished, leading into a commercial break.

Sara just laid there listening to her alarm clock radio for the duration of the break, as she gradually became aware of the fact that she had been dreaming moments ago, not actually experiencing it. Today, Sara could only hope she had a chance to talk to Michael. With a faint jolt, she realized that she missed him. It seemed strange, considering she still saw him everyday, but before Lincoln and LJ arrived, Sara had spent virtually every spare moment with Michael. She couldn't do that now. She couldn't eat lunch with him, check on him before she left, or arrive early to chat before she had to check on patients. In fact, she barely ever saw him. This saddened her more than she knew it should have. Eventually, when she could stand it no longer, she rolled out of bed and got herself ready for work.

* * *

"He wants to talk to you." One of the night doctors said, as Sara passed them in the hall. 

"Excuse me?" Sara asked reflexively, not understanding.

"Scofield. He asked me to send you in when you arrived. Said it was important." The other doctor illuminated her, shrugging.

"Oh. Thanks." Sara managed, hurrying on her way. Only one possible explanation occurred to her: he had remembered something! She had imagined for weeks now what it would be like when he started to recall things, and now it was happening. Despite its importance the day before, their kiss was now the furthest thing from her thoughts. Her heart pounded excitedly as she deposited her belongings in her office and raced across the floor to his room. Outside, she took a moment to compose herself before entering.

"Good morning, Michael." Sara stated, heading automatically to his charts.

"Good morning." He repeated the greeting, watching her. She examined his data, waiting for him to explain. Several moments passed however, and neither of them said anything. Eventually, she glanced up from his charts at him, and saw him staring back at her. The expression on his face was expectant. Why was he waiting? Was he waiting for her to ask? What was going on?

Abruptly, Sara realized that Lincoln wasn't in the room. She suspected that this was significant, somehow. "Where's Lincoln?"

"They had car trouble. They're not here yet." Michael replied, almost casually. Almost. While someone who didn't know him so well may have missed it, she caught the faint trace of eagerness in his voice.

Why was he eager? Eager to regain his memory? Why was he glad that Lincoln and LJ weren't there yet? Wouldn't that be something that he would want them to enjoy all together? The only answer to this left Sara feeling a little dizzy: it could only be that Michael had not remembered anything yet. Why, then, did he want to talk to her so badly? What else could be as important as regaining his memory?

Ah yes. The kiss.

Realization dawned on her like sun after a storm. He didn't want to talk about his memory, or amnesia, or anything medical; no, he wanted to discuss something far less certain. Michael wanted to discuss feelings, not conditions, and the fact that Lincoln and LJ, for the first time in two days, were not in his room made this the perfect opportunity.

Sara became cognizant of the fact that his eyes were still boring into her. He was obviously waiting for her to speak. In a warped sense, she had the upper hand in this scenario-she, after all, remembered-so he expected her to make the first move. It all made perfect sense, but unfortunately, Sara had no idea what that move should be. The terrible irony of this was that she'd had twenty-four hours to figure out what she wanted. Sara had been unable to make up her mind, though, and now it was coming back to haunt her. She had no clue what to say.

She was staring at him, she realized; that was all right though, because his gaze was fixed on hers. Maybe he somehow knew she was having problems speaking. Maybe he just couldn't stand it any more. He reached and wrapped his hand around one of hers-she hadn't even realized that she was standing close enough to his bed for that. "Sara." He breathed her name softly. "I-"

"Is everything okay?" Sara and Michael's heads turned as one, and saw that Lincoln was now standing in the doorway. Michael dropped his hand, and Sara jumped away, returning to the charts.

"Everything's fine. We're just going over his numbers." She lied quickly.

"Oh. I don't know if he told you, but the car wouldn't start." Lincoln explained, grimacing. "We got it going, though." Sara suddenly had an image of him and LJ pushing the car from the hotel to the hospital. Maybe it wasn't as crazy as it sounded; Lincoln would probably do anything to be by Michael's side. "It started eventually."

"That's good." Sara replied, scribbling a note on Michael's charts. "I'll be back later." When neither Lincoln nor Michael tried to stop her, she left the room, heart pounding. She hoped Lincoln hadn't noticed anything when he walked in; things were already complicated enough without other people knowing about their "relationship". Sara went to check on several more patients before quietly retreating into her office to fill out some paperwork.

A knock on the door disturbed her only moments later. "Come in." Sara called, briefly glancing up from her desktop computer to see Lincoln's brawny figure standing in the doorway. "What can I do for you, Lincoln?" She asked, pressing a few keys to save her work and wheeling her swivel chair away from the computer so she could see him better.

Lincoln stepped slowly in, fists jammed into his pockets. "Could we talk for a few minutes?" He inquired.

"Sure. Have a seat. What do you want to talk about?" The doctor replied, tilting her head slightly to one side.

Lincoln settled himself on one of the two chairs in front of her desk. He took a brief moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. "Was I interrupting anything early?" Lincoln asked, in what she considered to be a rather blunt tone.

Sara was a bit taken aback by this; she had thought that her and Michael had done a very good job concealing what was happening then. "No." She replied, her thoughts flickering back to her inability to speak.

"Uh huh." Lincoln sounded doubtful, but didn't press the matter. After a moment, he spoke again. "Now that I'm here, and have adjusted to what happened, I don't…. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do, as far as his treatment goes. How do we handle this?"

Sara folded her hands, and leaned over her desk slightly. "Michael is healing very well." She responded. "He is recovering from the surgery, and would be ready to go home in a few days."

"What if he doesn't remember by then?"

Sara considered this for a moment. "There's nothing that we can do for him here that can't be done in San Diego." Sara answered truthfully. She wasn't sure she wanted them to leave yet, but there really was no reason for him to stay in Chicago much longer.

"Right." Lincoln nodded faintly, bringing a hand to rest under his chin as he mulled this over.

"If you don't mind me asking…." She trailed off uncertainly. When he looked up at her and nodded, Sara continued. "Why San Diego? I saw the headlines, you received quite a settlement sum; you both could have lived anywhere you wanted."

"We couldn't stay in the Chicago area; too many people recognized us. There was no privacy at all." Lincoln answered. "We heard San Diego was nice, and we were a little less well known out there, so we decided to give it a shot and rented apartments. It was only supposed to be temporary, but LJ enrolled in a college nearby, so we stayed." Sara understood that after all the brothers had been through, wherever one of them went the other followed. Michael and Lincoln would never again be the kind of siblings who saw each other only at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

"Ah." She replied. "As far as treatment goes, you should discuss that with his physician there." Lincoln nodded, indicating his assent. "He could ready to leave by the end of the week."

"So I should look in to transportation home." He commented. "Him and LJ'll have to fly home, while I drive the car back."

"Why's that?" Sara inquired, puzzled. She didn't see why they couldn't all drive back together.

Lincoln shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Mike doesn't like being in the car for long, and three days is way too long." Sara attributed Lincoln's sudden unease to discussing Michael's claustrophobic condition. His claustrophobia was a definite weakness. Lincoln probably didn't like talking about the condition, especially when it felt like he was going behind Michael's back about it. Or maybe Lincoln just didn't like discussing it with _her_. Lincoln knew better than to speak ill of his brother to someone Michael was once involved with.

"His claustrophobia?" Sara asked directly.

He cocked his head further. "Yeah. How do you know?" Lincoln demanded, surprise etched on his features.

"He had a… a fit, two days ago. You and LJ were at lunch. A nurse went to check on him, and saw him sweating, shaking, and obviously distressed, so she came and got me. I guessed he was claustrophobic, and we went outside for a few minutes." Sara clarified. This line of thinking led to the kiss, and for a split second, she could feel Michael's lips on hers. Then the moment passed, and Sara could see Lincoln nodding thoughtfully. She knew her cheeks had taken on a rosy cast just from thinking about the kiss, but the other brother was too involved in his thinking to notice.

"He goes running, now." Lincoln offered, after a few seconds of silence. "Outside, every morning. It keeps it from bothering him, most of the time. He does other little things, too. Being cooped up in a room the size of a large shoe box-no offense- for days on end would have been bad for him. That's why we took him with us to lunch yesterday."

Sara pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and made some notes. She would stick in Michael's file later, so that the staff would be aware of his condition. "When did he develop it?"

"It first became a problem… almost two years ago." Lincoln answered obediently, hesitating to calculate how long ago it was. "We were driving to court in LJ's new used car, to hear the jury's verdict for everything that happened, and he started breathing funny. We pulled over, and he walked around for a little bit. He visited a psychiatrist, and was diagnosed with claustrophobia. The guy said Michael probably was always slightly claustrophobic, but not enough to be noticeable if you weren't looking for it. His time in Fox River combined with the stress of the escape and the chase made it an issue."

"He can't drive back, but a plane ride is okay?"

"The flight will only take a few hours; the drive will take days. And he has some medication that will get him by for several hours.' Lincoln responded, rubbing his eyes. "He'll definitely remember everything, though?"

"In the majority of cases like his, the victim regains almost complete memory."

"Almost complete?" Lincoln questioned.

"Sometimes they never remember the moments leading up to the crash." Sara answered.

"Oh." Lincoln paused. "Geez, there's a lot of things before that I wish he wouldn't remember."

"I know." Sara said, sympathetically. It would be painful for Michael to remember his life: the early death of his mom, the abandonment of his father, Lincoln being framed, his time in Fox River, the escape, the events that happened afterwards. For him, it would be like reliving them.

"If that's it, I should go make plans." He stood abruptly. Sara nodded, and Lincoln left.

* * *

When Sara went to check back in on Michael at half past three, Dr. Sterron was in there, talking to Lincoln and Michael, so she decided to come back later. Between her other patients, a staff meeting regarding plans for the building of a new wing of the hospital, and the influx of several incoming emergencies who fell into Sara's care, however, she ended up working late as it was, so she just went home. The sleeping pills refused to work their magic that night, leaving her tossing and turning for hours before giving up on rest. She picked up the remote, and after nearly half an hour, concluded that there was absolutely nothing worth watching at two o'clock in the morning on television. Having nothing else to do, Sara got dressed and drove back to the hospital. It was open twenty-four hours a day, and she had some paperwork that she might as well get out of the way now, since she wasn't doing anything else. After an hour of that, she needed a break. Sara made her way over to the vending machines in the staff lounge and bought a water and bag of low fat, calories, and cholesterol potato chips (she wondered vaguely what _was _in them). On her way back to the office, it occurred to Sara that she hadn't made it back to Michael's room that day. She decided that she should check on him, one last time for the night. 

The light in his room was off. Upon opening the door slightly, Sara wasn't at all surprised to see that he was asleep. The only light in the room came from the lights on a machine and from the glaring glow of a streetlight just outside his window. She tiptoed in to examine his file. The charts looked good; everything indicated that he was getting better with each passing hour. Sara smiling faintly, as though a bigger grin would somehow wake him up. _This_ was the Michael she knew. He was a fighter. He could bounce back from anything. She had complete faith that he would recover wholly from his accident, right down to the last stitch and memory, because he was Michael, and he was damn near invincible.

Sara set his charts back down carefully, so they didn't clank on the small table at the foot of his bed and wake him. She glanced at him one last time, before starting to walk away. Three steps later, Sara hesitated, and turned again. She realized that in all the things they went through together, she had not once seen Michael Scofield sleeping. He sure didn't look as invincible as she perceived him to be; indeed, he looked pretty vulnerable there, lying on his side, curled up slightly on the small hospital cot. Contrary to the typical sleeping human, Sara didn't think he looked younger than when he was awake; rather, an extraordinary mixture of innocence and susceptibility. Michael didn't look like an amnesiac asleep, didn't look like he knew some of the things he knew. This caused her to linger near the foot of his bed for several long moments. Unconsciously, she matched her breathing patterns to his own, shallow inhalation, as some of the peacefulness he possessed only when asleep rubbed off on her. Suddenly, nothing felt as over-the-top or as impossible as it had only moments before, and she lost herself in this feeling.

Michael's eyes opened. Remarkably, nothing in his face suggested that he was surprised to see her, standing there in his room after normal work hours. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, one that was punctuated only by Michael sitting up slowly. "Hi." He said finally, breaking the silence.

A small grin graced Sara's features. "Hi." She repeated, taking a step forward so she truly was at the foot of his bed. "I didn't mean to wake you." Sara added, sincerely.

"I'm glad you did, Sara." Michael replied, equally as serious, not breaking eye contact.

She briefly contemplated correcting him, insisting that it was Dr. Tancredi, but it seemed that she had lost that fight a long time ago. "You need your sleep to heal." Sara pointed out softly.

"A few minutes either way won't make a difference." He insisted, swinging his feet out from under the blankets and settling them on the floor. Michael stood cautiously. She noted that he was wearing a pair of scrub pants under his hospital gown, again; hardly kosher in a hospital, but Sara's willpower was weak enough without him not wearing pants. "We need to talk."

Sara nodded, biting her lip slightly as she considered what she was going to say. "When we kissed the other day," she began, taking a deep breath. "You were having a claustrophobia attack. You didn't really know what was happening, you weren't really thinking. I'm sure you were a little alarmed still about the fit. You didn't mean it, and that's okay."

He stood there silently, waiting for her to finish. When she had, Michael grabbed his IV stand with one hand and moved closer to her. "If I didn't know what I was doing, and didn't mean it, why have I spent the past two days trying to figure out how I can find an opportunity to do it again?" Michael asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question, but Sara didn't have an answer for it anyway. He stepped even nearer to her, and released his IV stand. Michael slid his hands into hers, where they hung limply by his sides. "All you need to do is tell me yes," he lifted one hand and kissed the top of it, "or no," Michael added, as he did the same to the other one. From the way she kissed him back, he took it as a yes.

Although it didn't last very long, the kiss was longer than their first one and carried twice the passion. Given that it happened in a hospital room with a bed after dark, perhaps it could have gone considerably further. Michael wasn't healthy enough for that, and neither was ready for it anyway. He was the first to pull away, but Sara didn't mind. It was late, and he needed his sleep; they both knew that, so she helped him get settled back in bed.

"We have a history, don't we." The way he said it made it more of a statement than a question. She didn't respond immediately. "We have to have one. I shouldn't feel this strongly about you now if I didn't feel this way before. Two weeks isn't enough for me to feel this way about somebody." Michael continued, watching her carefully. "Maybe we were together in high school, or maybe we met at a bar, or Lincoln set us up on a blind date, or-"

"Trust me, Michael, you'll _never_ guess how we met." Sara commented truthfully.

"You could tell me." Michael retorted, smirking slightly.

"Soon I won't have to. Soon you'll remember." She replied, adjusting his IV.

"I look forward to it." Michael stated, smirk growing.

She smiled sadly at him, thinking again of the things he would recall. "Just remember, Michael, that everybody has something in their past that they would rather forget. What you remember might not be all good."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I hurt you, Sara. Before. I can see it in how you look at me. It's why you're so hesitant about us. I don't know what I did, but I am sorry." His voice had taken on a serious, sincere cast. "I'm sorry. But I can't make it right because I don't know what I did, and something tells me you're not going to inform me. So please, don't hold me accountable for whatever it was." Michael reached up with one hand, and brushed a section of hair out of her face. "It's in the past." He encouraged her to believe him.

Sara placed one hand over his, where it lingered on her face. "It's very hard, Michael." She admitted, thinking of the two long years and the threat of another woman in his life. "Try to get some sleep." Sara left his room only moments later. She went back into her office and sat down to her paperwork. Moments later, the doctor had dozed off on in her swivel chair, getting four solid hours of naptime before an intern accidentally woke her up.

* * *

Please review! 


	7. Take A Good Look Around

Chapter 7: Take A Good Look Around

I've been really busy (again) and had writers' block (again), so it's a fairly short chapter (again). The next update will probably be a while. There's only a few chapters left, and I want to try to write the rest of it before I post again.

Thanks again to the reviewers!

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A little after eight in the morning, Sara ran out to get coffee and breakfast before her shift officially began. She came back, and her first stop of course was Michael. 

"How're you feeling?" She asked with a smile, leafing through his charts and sitting lightly on the side of his cot.

"Pretty good. The bruises are going away." Michael replied. It was true; his bruises were healing enough that only small yellowish green patches on his face and arms remained.

"That's good. Any nausea, dizziness?"

"No and no."

"Okay. That's all for now." She hesitated. "Michael, you know I have to be professional, right? My job needs to come first."

He nodded. "I understand."

"I'm already in enough hot water with my boss." Sara added.

"I know. But… we could always keep it a secret." Michael suggested hopefully.

"I can't, Michael." She answered honestly. Michael pushed himself up slowly to a sitting position as she spoke, and when she finished, he kissed her lightly. "I shouldn't." Sara amended, just before he kissed her again.

"You already did." Michael pointed out, bringing their lips together for a third time. She groaned slightly, equally from frustration at his logic and from how good it felt to have him kiss her. So she settled for kissing him back.

Several minutes later, she emerged from his room, hair slightly disheveled. Sara was headed back to her office to straighten up when Lincoln spied her. "Hey, Doc!" She turned to face him, painfully embarassed about how she knew she looked right then.

"Yeah, Lincoln?" Sara asked, trying to maintain her calm. She just wanted to get back to her office without too many people seeing her….

"I wanted to let you know that we're leaving Saturday morning." Lincoln replied, holding up a pair of plane tickets.

"So soon?" She asked in spite of herself, surprised.

He shrugged. "You said by the end of the week. That's okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course, I just didn't think…."

"All right. I gotta go check on him. He was saying something about the room feeling small again early." Lincoln said, stepping away. Sara shook her head slightly, and made her way back to her office.

The rest of the morning seemed to fly by. Sara was behind in her rounds by the time her lunch break came, so instead of going with Lincoln and Michael to the cafeteria like she had planned, she ran over to a fast food restaraunt across the street from the hospital. Sara practically inhaled her burger, even though she knew exactly how bad it was for her, and ran back to the hospital to continue working. The afternoon passed much in the same manner, and she didn't return to her office until four thirty. Sara's intent was to get some more paperwork out of the way, but any thoughts of work vaporized when she saw what was on her desk.

The flowers were absolutely beautiful. A dozen red, a dozen pink, and a dozen white roses, all in their prime, were arranged artistically in a large plastic vase. Together, they made the room smell, well, like roses. Whoever put it there had been thoughtful enough to put it far away from her computer, in a place where even if it spilled, the only thing ruined would be a small stack of papers. She recognized the hospital gift shop's logo on the tag. Sara knew there was only one person who would have sent her flowers from the gift shop, but to be sure, she reached out with a slightly trembling hand to pluck the gift tag out from amongst the blooming flowers. Michael's signature was the only writing on it. Sara knew without a doubt that he had sent her these flowers to make her happy, to be romantic, to do this thing the right way, even if he was trapped in a hospital without his memory. He certainly didn't intend for them to make her cry.

The small card tumbled out of her hand and onto the desk, coming to rest near a stapler. Sara brushed the first couple tears away brusquely, trying to stem the flow. After a few seconds however, she gave up and succumbed to her emotions. She collapsed blindly into her chair, which swiveled haphazardly, but she didn't notice. In a rare display of feelings, Sara cried. She sobbed long and hard, caving in to days of building stress, but she mostly cried for what she felt she had lost. He didn't know her at all anymore. If he did, he would _never _have bought her real flowers. Michael would have bought fake ones, or made paper flowers instead because he knew her feelings about temporary displays of affection (like flowers that witled within the week). It was symbolic of their relationship in general. He didn't know her anymore. Not without his memory. And who knows how long it could take for his memory to return, for this final injury to heal? It could be only a matter of days, but it could be years too. Even once Michael regained his memories, there was a lot of ground to cover still. Like, why he spent two years not contacting her, and if there was someone else. For a horrible instant, Sara had an mental image of Michael, back in warm San Diego with a wife and a family. It was even more unbearable for her because she knew, without any doubt, that she could have had that life. Sara could be Mrs. Scofield by now. It felt as though that opportunity had come and gone- although arguably, since he was lying on a bed in her hospital, it had come again. But it wasn't entirely Michael's fault that they were out of contact; she hadn't exactly tracked him down either.

She stayed like this for a while, before eventually calming down. The tears slowed and then ceased altogether. She wiped away the remaining tears carefully with her sleeve, deciding that crying about her problems wasn't solving them. Then, just outside her door, someone sneezed suddenly. This caught Sara's attention. Had somebody been watching her meltdown? She stood slowly, and walked to the doorway and poked her head outside into the hall. The mystery sneezer was LJ. He was lingering a little to the left of her door frame, and was looking remarkably guilty.

"Do you need something?" Sara asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. He had no right to spy on her like that. At 18, he should know better.

"Sorry, Dr. Tancredi. I didn't mean to. It's just... well, it sounded like something was wrong. I didn't want to bother you, but I didn't want to leave you alone if you, you know, needed someone." LJ replied almost shyly, tapping the toe of his shoe on the ground anxiously.

Sara surpressed a sigh, and with it her anger. He'd only been looking out for her, and she couldn't fault him for that. "It's okay, LJ." Sara said, finally.

"Thanks, Dr. Tancredi."

"You can call me Sara, if you want." Sara offered, stepping out into the hall. "Everyone else does."

"Right. Sara." LJ paused. "Look, not to pry or anything, but are you okay? 'Cause you don't exactly look it."

"I'm _fine_, LJ." She replied immediately, perhaps a little too forcefully to be believable. "It's just a rough day, that's all."

"Whatever you say. But my dad and me, we're here for you if you need us. We really appreciate you looking after Uncle Mike."

"It's my job." Sara responded wryly.

"Sure. If you're really okay, I should go find Dad. Sometimes I think he likes pestering the staff here." LJ wrinkled his nose faintly, still embarassed by his father's actions. Sara nodded her consent, and watched as LJ strode off back towards Michael's room. Abruptly he turned back around. "Hey, Sara? If it helps... he was never serious about anyone. At least, not enough for him to introduce us." LJ offered kindly.

Sara frowned. "What makes you think that's the issue at hand?" She demanded. What the doctor was really asking was how the heck did he figure that out, but Sara figured that was a little too obvious.

"I'm a teenager, remember? I'm an expert when it comes to manners of the heart." LJ grinned broadly and flourished his hands dramatically, before continuing on his way and leaving a stunned Sara behind.

Maybe, Sara reasoned, a few dozen roses weren't such a bad thing after all.

* * *

"Remember, if you feel even a little dizzy or out of breath, tell one of us." Sara instructed, watching his face carefully to determine whether or not he would actually follow her advice. 

"Don't worry so much." Michael replied, grinning. Nope, he definitely would not say anything, not until he was about to pass out. Sara knew she would have to pay close attention to him to ensure he didn't overexert himsefl. No matter how healthy Michael felt, he was still recovering from a major car accident and how he felt didn't necessarily correspond to how his body actually was. "I'm not going to fall over if the wind blows the wrong way or something." He added to reassure her. Sara remained unconvinced, but unhooked his IV anyway.

Michael stood carefully, clearly trying to appease her. His feet rested in his favorite sneakers (according to Lincoln), and to maintain his dignity during this venture, he'd changed out of his hospital-regulated apparel and into sweat pants and a T-shirt. "The cafeteria again today?" He asked, as they exited his room.

Sara nodded. "It's been snowing nonstop all day. There's too much snow." She paused to leave a note on Michael's door to explain his absence to any other staff who noticed. "LJ and Lincoln are already there."

For the few minutes it took to get to the hospital cafeteria on the first floor, Michael and Sara chatted about inconsequential things such as the weather and what was on TV the night before. Neither felt any true need to discus the kissing- which had become increasingly common over the past few days- or to mention it to Lincoln or LJ. Upon their arrival, LJ came over and guided them over to a table, explaining as he went that Lincoln already bought the food. Lunch went smoothly. There was more meaningless conversation; after all, what exactly was one supposed to talk to an amnesiac about? About twenty minutes later, when everyone had finished eating, Lincoln and LJ disposed of the garbage in the nearest trash can.

"Hey, Linc?" Michael asked, breaking the steam of discussion about pop culture.

"Yeah?"

"When Mom died, where was Dad?" Michael inquired.

"What do you mean, where was he?" Lincoln needed clarification before he would answer.

"I know he left, but you and I and everyone else who ever mattered to her was there." The younger brother replied, resting his hands on a rail against the wall.

No one bothered to answer Michael; they were a little too ecstatic. A broad grin split Sara's face, and the same goofy smile appeared on Lincoln's features as well. Lincoln pulled his brother into a hug, thumping him on the back a few times for good measure. He said something inaudible from Sara's distance, but Michael seemed to understand. Lincoln was too excited by Michael's memories to stand still for long, so he quickly moved away restlessly. When he did, Sara stepped in to give Michael a congradulatory hug. Michael, however, tilted his head deliberately and kissed her boldly. After a moment, they came apart, and when they did, they were greeted by Lincoln's questioning stare. Lincoln, left to watch, was not so surprised by the kiss as the way Michael's arms tightened around Sara. LJ, of course, was not surprised by any of this, knowing his uncle well and having witnessed Sara's meltdown earlier. He was just trying and failing to conceal a severe smirk.

"So I guess there's something I've been meaning to mention." Michael remarked, unable to hide a grin. Sara couldn't tell whether that was from finally admitting to their relationship, or from getting his memory back; either way, she was happier than she'd been in a long time.

"Hey, I understand." Lincoln replied, shrugging it off. "How long have you remembered for?"

Michael's grin grew some. "Two days ago. But it was just little stuff, from when I was really young. My teddy bear from pre-school, the shirt I wore on the first day of kindergarten, that kind of thing. Stuff I could have invented because I wanted to remember something. Mom's funeral... that's more concrete. I couldn't have made that up."

Lincoln patted Michael on the back again. "Ha, you remember." He said, once again, just savoring the significance of the moment. His tone then changed. "Mom's death hit you really hard. I don't know if you remember, but..." Lincoln paused, allowing Michael to nod. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Michael glanced over at his brother, grin suddenly gone. "Yeah, I think we should." He answered.

Sara cleared her throat. "I'll uh, be in my office. If you need anything..." She trailed off, knowing that they wouldn't hesitate to ask. This was clearly something the brothers had to work through on their own, something that she could only be in the way for. LJ also picked up on this, and plopped himself down in a waiting room chair to leaf through a magazine. Michael and Lincoln nodded, and continued on their way back to his room, talking in hushed tones about their childhoods. Sara sighed, and began to walk in the opposite direction.

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Please review! 


	8. Stop the World, Please

Chapter 8: Stop The World, Please

Lots of lovely reviews for the last chapter! Thank you all, very much.

New chapter, yay. It took a lot longer to get up than I wanted, sorry about that. Only two chapters left (if all goes as planned...)!

Please review!

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Sara knocked on the door. When there was no protest, she entered. "You two still talking?" She asked, a bit surprised. It had been almost two hours since the brothers retreated to discuss the death of their mother; she had thought they would be done by now, otherwise she wouldn't have interrupted to check on Michael. 

Lincoln shrugged. "We were just about done." He answered, inspecting a spot on his jacket.

"Ah." Sara seated herself on the stool reserved for the doctor. She wheeled it away from the bed a little and twisted to reach for the instrument used to measure blood pressure. Sara was awkwardly aware of the fact that both brothers were watching her closely, which caused her to wonder if perhaps she was intruding on more than she realized. Maybe they weren't just discussing the funeral; maybe they were discussing things he would remember later. Maybe they were discussing _her_.

"Lincoln, do you think someone should check on LJ?" Michael inquired, watching as Sara wrapped the device around his unbroken arm.

She glanced up at him and Lincoln. "Actually, I saw him a little bit ago, in the waiting room. He's fine." Sara answered, attempting to put them both at ease. After just a few seconds, she undid the Velcro holding the device to his arm and placed it back on the wall.

"Maybe you should just make sure." Michael suggested carefully.

Lincoln looked at his brother, trying to determine if he should obey or not. "Yeah, probably. You know how teenagers are." He said finally, standing. "If you need anything…." Lincoln trailed off as he exited.

Sara was noting something on Michael's chart when he spoke again. "About earlier," he began. "You're not upset that I mentioned this to Lincoln, are you?"

"No." She replied evenly, pulling out her stethoscope. "Deep breaths."

"You got the flowers, right?" Michael asked, still watching her.

"Deep breaths." Sara repeated. She wasn't quite ready to talk about the flower fiasco yet.

Michael took the hint, and diverted his attention to respiring. She moved the end of the stethoscope around his chest, and then leaned him forwards slightly to do the same to his back. When that was done, Sara lifted his shirt slightly to expose a long, stitched gash along his ribcage. She removed the bandage, reapplied an ointment, and replaced the oversized-band aide. Just before Sara pulled it back, he caught her hand in his own. She glanced up, and met his intense gaze. In a deep corner of her mind, she was vaguely aware of the fact that he was rubbing her hand, small circles on the top, but mostly she thought about how very blue his eyes were. With his good arm, he reached around her shoulders and pulled her gently off her stool and onto the bed next to him. Sara had a brief, horrible vision of another doctor walking in then and witnessing this rule breaking, but it felt so good to have his arms around her so she banished the image and settled in against him. After a moment, he kissed the top of her head softly. "The flowers?" He asked again.

"Beautiful." Sara answered; not quite a lie but not the truth either. She straightened, and scooted back to her stool. "We need to talk about your memory." She explained, picking her clipboard up again. Michael just smirked. "How far do you remember?"

"Until just after the funeral." He answered obediently.

"When did you start remembering?"

"Two days ago, but as I said earlier, nothing concrete enough to mention." He hesitated, as a new thought occurred to him. "What if this is all I get?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What if I never remember any more than this?" Michael rephrased it carefully.

She patted his leg reassuringly. "Most people remember right up until what immediately preceded the accident." Sara replied.

"Most people." He echoed, sounding doubtful.

"Practically everybody." She tried. Michael nodded, but he still didn't look confident. "Look, Michael, you're remembering. Don't worry about getting it all back; you'll be fine." Sara was a little lacking in sympathy and patience suddenly; her head was aching a bit, which, on top of the lack of sleep, was making her feel sick.

"Just so I know, when do you come in? In the memories?" He asked, changing the conversation entirely.

Sara mustered a grin. "Not for a while."

Something in her face must have given away how off she felt. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked. She nodded. "You're not. You should lay down." Michael suggested forcefully.

"Where am I going to lie down?" Sara asked, a thin smile on her face. A nap sounded quite good then actually. Michael scooted over slightly in his narrow hospital bed, creating just enough room to allow her to lie on it as well. Sara laughed. "I can't just fall asleep in the same bed as a patient."

"Just for a little bit. Until you feel better." Michael pleaded. She realized he was concerned about her, more so than the situation merited.

"I'm fine." Sara asserted, to assuage his fears. "I have some paperwork to take care of." She stood, smiled in his direction, and made her way to the door.

"You always have paperwork." He commented.

Now it was her turn to smirk. "Yeah, it's a good excuse." Sara called back over her shoulder before exiting.

* * *

When she returned to her office, Lincoln was waiting for her. Sara nodded in greeting, and sat down behind her desk. "What can I do for you, Lincoln?" She asked, resting her hands on the desk. 

He remained standing. "Based on what happened earlier, in the hall…"

"The kiss?" Sara wanted clarification.

"Yeah. I was thinking… do you want to come back with us? To San Diego? You could go back to Chicago whenever you're ready, but I think it would mean a lot to Michael." Lincoln explained.

"Hmm." Sara said instinctively. This had come out of left field; of all the things she possibly had expected him to say, this was not one of them.

"You don't have to decide now. You can think on it and let me know, if you want." Lincoln suggested, glancing around her office.

"Yeah, okay. I'll let you know." She answered. "Um, Linc? Knowing what you know about Michael and I, was he seeing someone? In San Diego?"

Lincoln jammed his fists into his pockets, thinking. "There was one, once, a few weeks after we moved there. They went on two, maybe three dates. He said she only wanted to talk about the escape. The guys he worked with kept trying to set him up, but he turned 'em down every time after that." He responded honestly. Lincoln shook his head slightly. "He works a lot. Too much. But he doesn't really have anything else, I guess."

"He was in Chicago for work, then?" Sara asked.

Lincoln looked up, surprised. "No."

"What for?"

Lincoln shifted awkwardly. "He, uh, he came to see you." He replied eventually. Sara understood his discomfort; it must be strange to discuss the inclinations of his brother.

"To see me." She repeated, as though they might mean something different when she said them. They didn't.

"Yeah. He finally used some of his precious vacation days to come up here, to see how you were." Lincoln explained.

"Why?"

"I don't think even he knew, when he came." He replied. "He said something about how he needed to see you, so he came."

Sara slumped deeper into her chair. "So he was in the accident because of me. He can't remember anything because of me." She thought aloud.

"Not anything. It's coming back." Lincoln corrected optimistically. "It's not your fault, Sara. I suggested we live somewhere warm, and if I hadn't, his winter driving skills wouldn't have gotten rusty. Let's face it, the real reason he was in an accident was because there was ice on the ground."

Sara didn't comment. Instead, she reached into a desk drawer, withdrawing a small bottle of painkillers (of the over-the-counter variety, of course; she past _those_ days). "You okay?" Lincoln asked, as she ingested the recommended dosage.

Sara nodded. "Just a headache." She replied. "I'll think about your offer. If you don't have anything else, I have some paperwork I need to see to."

"That's fine. I'll just make sure he doesn't need anything." He said, heading out. When he was gone, Sara turned to some of the infamous paperwork with a sigh.

By the next morning when she arrived at work, Sara hadn't made a decision about Lincoln's offer yet. To go or not to go, that was the question. If she went, she could continue to pursue her relationship with Michael. She could be there as he remembered the rest of his life, including her. She could learn why he hadn't contacted her. But Sara would have to sacrifice her job (which she liked), and leave her apartment (which she also liked) and move away from Chicago (which was the only place she'd ever lived). And everyone she knew; a short list, but still.

* * *

Hoping that coffee might help her be more decisive, Sara swung by a coffee shop on her way in to the hospital. The cupachino chased down more medication, for her headache. After a few hours of rounds, at about noon, she arrived in front of Michael's room. To her surprise, the brothers were in deep conversation. Deciding that she would only be interrupting for a moment- and that maybe she could help- Sara knocked and entered anyway. 

"Good morning." Sara remarked, heading for his charts. It did not escape her attention that their discussion ceased the instant she walked in. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything."

The brothers exchanged looks. This didn't escape her notice either. "No, just going over some memories." Lincoln replied finally. Michael supplemented this with a nod.

"Oh, what about?" Sara's curiosity got the better of her before she could even think that asking about this might be too personal.

"A little after the funeral." Lincoln answered again, when Michael didn't. His response was too vague to not draw attention.

"Uh huh." Sara commented, scribbling a note for the nurse on his charts. She shut them abruptly with a snap. "I can send someone in to talk to you, if you want."

Lincoln turned to Michael. This one had to be answered by Michael. "No, I'll be fine." He said, after a moment.

"Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind. I'll be back later." Sara had no desire to stay in this room, not when it was so ridden with discomfort and awkwardness, plus she had other people to attend to. Neither brother spoke, but both watched her leave.

* * *

Half an hour later, Lincoln caught up with Sara in the hall. "Hey, Doc, do you have a minute?" He asked. 

"Sure." She answered quickly, setting the file she was skimming down. They began to walk down the hall. "Is LJ with him?"

"Yeah." Lincoln replied, nodding.

Sara jammed her fists into the pockets of her white coat. They walked in silence for a few moments, before Sara decided to pry a bit. "What's on your mind?"

"It's Michael. What he's remembered." Lincoln answered, stopping in front of a large window. Through it, the dreary world outside could clearly be seen.

"The funeral?"

"No, past that. About a year."

"That's a big advance for twenty four hours." Sara noted, leaning on a railing.

Lincoln shrugged. "He was starting to remember yesterday, he said, and had dreams. And then this morning he knew." The older man turned to face her. "He won't tell you this. I don't think he can. I'm not even sure he wants me to tell you. In fact, I'm sure he doesn't. Michael can't tell you himself, and having me tell you is like me fighting his battles, which he wants even less. But he doesn't want to keep things from you, he wants you to know." Lincoln paused, to make sure Sara understood him. She nodded; he didn't want her to tell Michael that Lincoln told her, but he agreed that she should know.

"Why can't he tell me?" Sara inquired, trying to sound casual, but failing. Lincoln had scared her now; what could be so awful that Michael couldn't tell _her_?

"It's too painful. Humiliating, too, but mostly painful. It was fairly traumatic." Lincoln explained. There was a moment of silence as Lincoln tried to prepare himself to deliver this.

When he finally spoke, Lincoln explained how he was in Juvie a little after the funeral, how Michael was sent to a foster home, how his foster father locked him in a dark room, how he beat Michael, how their biological father killed the foster father. Sara's jaw gradually opened more and more and her expression grew increasingly horrified as she realized just what kind of childhood Michael and Lincoln had.

"Oh my…." She managed, when Lincoln finished. Lincoln nodded gruffly. "That's terrible. I had no idea…."

"He keeps in bottled up. I thought you should know. He just remembered it all, and even though it was a while ago..."

"…It still hurts." Sara finished with a nod. "Are you sure you don't want me to contact a psychiatrist for him to talk to?"

"Yeah. If he changes his mind, I'll let you know, but for now, him telling anyone more would be too hard."

"I can only imagine…." She trailed off. "What time do you want to take him to lunch?"

Lincoln shrugged. "We were going to go now. Want to come?"

Sara nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I'll go." She straightened. "Shall we?" Lincoln signaled his approval. Both turned away from the rail and began to walk away.

Sara had taken only a few steps when the room became a little blurry and spun slightly. She stumbled, banging her elbow on a doorknob and almost landing on a garbage can. There was pressure on her other arm, and Sara realized that Lincoln had prevented her from hitting the ground.

"Hey, easy there." Lincoln muttered soothingly. Sara was caught in an awkward, tilted position, which he quickly rectified by hoisting her back to an upright stance. "You okay?"

Sara didn't answer immediately. Instead she focused her efforts on maintaining her balance. The dizziness had faded away.

"You okay?" He repeated, a little louder this time.

She noticed he had left his hand on her arm, as though he was concerned she was about to fall over again. Since Sara wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't about to do so, this was good planning on Lincoln's part. She also noted, with some amusement, that he was in full big-brother mode. "I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy. It's fine though." Sara answered.

He removed his hand suddenly, as though uneasy about the contact. Sara attributed this to the fact that her and Michael were kind of a couple, and Lincoln didn't want his actions to be misinterpreted. "Do you want to lie down somewhere?" Lincoln asked, casting a look around the hall for somewhere for her to rest.

"No, thanks, I'm fine." She brushed off his attempts. "Let's go take him to lunch."

Lincoln stared at her for a moment, obviously trying to discern whether or not she was telling the truth about being fine. "All right." He conceded finally. They made it to Michael's room without any further mishap.

"Ready to eat?" Sara asked lightly, as she unhooked his IV. She tried to avoid eye contact with him, suspecting that if she met his gaze, he would know that she knew about the foster home.

Michael shrugged. "Now's as good a time as ever." He replied. Lincoln and LJ watched silently as Sara gave Michael the familiar warning about not over-exerting himself before letting him out of the room. Once that was done, they set off down the hall. LJ prattled on about sports for a while. Sara was grateful for that because between her near-collapse and Michael's childhood, no one else felt much like talking.

As they approached the cafeteria, Lincoln abruptly spoke. "LJ, why don't you go get the food?" He requested, in a tone that suggested it was more of an order. LJ glanced up at him, surprised. He looked ready to argue this, but Lincoln's stern look convinced him otherwise. With a dramatic sigh, LJ headed into the cafeteria towards the lines. The other three followed more slowly.

"You're leaving tomorrow, right? And LJ and I the day after?" Michael asked randomly, since no one else spoke.

Lincoln glanced at Sara, reminding her that she needed to make a decision soon. "Yeah." He answered. Michael nodded slightly, indicating his comprehension.

The brothers talked briefly about the plan for a few moments. Sara didn't pay attention; she was a little preoccupied with how the room was tilting and spinning, making it nearly impossible for her to put one foot in front of the other without running into anything. She vaguely knew that the room shouldn't be doing that. It looked like what she'd always imagined an earthquake to be like. When the room blurred, Sara stopped walking altogether, knowing continuing would only make her run into something.

"Sara?" Sara lifted her head (causing the room to jump dangerously), and saw Michael staring at her about ten feet up the hall. Apparently the brothers had realized that she was no longer matching their pace. He looked like he'd called her name a few times before that, but she hadn't heard it. "Sara, are you okay?"

Sara didn't respond. She was far more interested in the way the floor was rapidly approaching her face. And then it all went dark.

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What's this? A cliff-hanger ending? Gasp! Bet you weren't expecting that. 

Please review.


	9. So Many Wants, But Even More Needs

Chapter 9: So Many Wants, But Even More Needs

Lots of reviews for the last chapter :) Thanks!

Since the next chapter is already up, there's not really too much to say about this one. Enjoy!

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Sara didn't open her eyes at first. Why would she want to face her problems when she could stare at the plain darkness of the backs of her eyelids? The darkness was just so relaxing, and she was so comfortable in that moment that she couldn't bring herself to shatter the peace by allowing her eyes to flutter open. It was so calm here, right now. She couldn't be certain that she remained awake, that she didn't slip back into an unconscious state, but she didn't care because in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't even close to mattering.

Gradually she came to the realization that she was hearing nothing because there was nothing to hear. Wherever she was, it was silent. No, she amended, make that near silent. There was the faint, rhythmic beeping of a machine nearby. Aside from that, however, there were no disturbances, nothing to suggest anything existed other than her and the machine.

That idea wasn't very frightening, and Sara decided there was nothing to lose by opening her eyes and acknowledging the world. She could always close them again if she wanted, and return to this state of utter harmony. Just a quick peek, to make sure it was safe. To make sure there was nothing to threaten her serenity before officially waking.

Sara's eyes flickered open, and then shut quickly. _'Well, that was unproductive,'_ she thought. Her sight was too blurry to make anything out. She opened them once more. Still nothing. A few quick blinks later, Sara could see clearly, clearly enough to know that no one was in the room except her. Again, she had the sensation that there was nothing besides her and the machine, except now there was also a bed, a plastic chair, an IV and stand, along with a small plant near a window (the blinds of which were thankfully closed, because otherwise Sara would have had to acknowledge the fact that there was a world outside of her window; that was too much right now). Since there was nothing scary here, Sara opened her eyes and left them that way.

There were blankets on her, thin hospital sheets that provided little warmth but contributed greatly to the sense that she was secure on this bed, in this place. The mattress was also thin, but comfortable somehow. The walls were a pale blue. Altogether, it was a cozy, quiet room. There was a small table at the foot of her bed, and on it was a clipboard with paper clipped to it. She recognized the logo of the hospital at the top of the first sheet. Sara knew the answers were on those pages, that if she reached over and grabbed them, she could understand what exactly was wrong with her. Oh yes, there was something wrong. She knew that much. Sara knew she shouldn't be the one lying on this bed; she should be the one holding the clipboard, talking to the person in the bed. She knew she had experienced some sort of fall because she remembered being dizzy, then suddenly the floor was a lot closer than before and the lights went out. Sara couldn't bring herself to care enough about what was wrong with her to exert the energy required to get the clipboard, so she just laid there.

She lay there, quietly, not thinking at all because it was too difficult and her mind was too fuzzy for that anyway, completely at peace with herself and the world.

And then the door swung open, with a faint creak. This, along with the sound of soft footsteps, shattered the peace. Sara sighed faintly, gazing at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling, Dr. Tancredi?" A vaguely familiar man's voice asked.

Sara didn't bother to look at him. "Calm." She answered honestly, in a whisper.

"Tired?" He suggested. She shook her head slightly. Sara wished he wouldn't talk so loudly; she still had dreams of regaining the calm of before his arrival, and it seemed he was doing his best to prevent that. "Dizzy? Disoriented?"

"No."

"That's good." He remarked absently. She heard the sound of a pen scratching on paper, then the creak of the bed. Sara interpreted this as the bed's disapproval of his presence. She agreed with that objection. "Dr. Tancredi, we have you on a mild sedative right now."

"Mmm. I like it." Sara mumbled, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

"It will wear off in a little bit." He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. Did he really find her tranquillity amusing? "Do you remember what happened?"

"Kind of." She answered slowly. Sara still wasn't sure what she thought of this stranger with the almost-familiar voice.

"You collapsed." He stated bluntly.

"I knew that much." Sara remarked dully. If he was going to state the obvious, he should just leave. Leave and let her return to her peacefulness.

"All the tests came back negative. Blood and pregnancy tests, x-rays, MRI. The whole nine yards. All negative." He continued on as though he hadn't heard her. "That leads us to believe that you collapsed due to a combination of stress, lack of sleep, and improper nutrition." Sara slurred something under her breath; even she wasn't quite sure what she said, so the doctor definitely couldn't understand it. "We kept you unconscious overnight to allow your body to recuperate, kept you hydrated and gave you some vitamins. When the sedative wears off, you should be fine."

"Okay." Sara responded, tracing her finger blindly along the edge of the blanket while looking up at the ceiling.

"If you have no questions, I'll just check back in later." He set the clipboard back on the table and was on his way out the door before it even occurred to her to respond. He was gone, and Sara was left alone in her heavenly calm.

* * *

Sara awoke to the sound of the door opening again. For a moment she thought the doctor was back to disturb her rest some more, but no footsteps followed the sound of the door. This aroused her curiosity. Sara lifted her head slightly- a monumental effort at this point- and saw LJ's head sticking into the room.

"Sara? You awake?" He called in a whisper.

"Yeah, LJ. I'm up." Sara replied, allowing her head to fall back again.

"Oh. Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

LJ entered slowly, and sat on the chair. "How're you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks." Sara answered, shifting her gaze from the ceiling to LJ.

"Did they figure out what caused you to, you know, faint?"

"I didn't faint, I collapsed." Sara corrected. There was a big difference, in her mind. "And it was a combination of a lot of things, none of them serious."

"Oh."

"Did your dad leave?" She wanted to know, fingering the blanket again.

LJ nodded. "This morning. He wanted to hang around 'til the drugs wore off, but they said it wouldn't be until late afternoon and he had to get going to be home by when we arrive." He paused for breath. "He said the offer still stands. You think you're going to come?"

"I don't know. I have to think about it."

"Oh." There was a brief silence. "He's worried about you." LJ finally said, softly as though he might be overstepping the boundaries a little.

"Who is?"

"Uncle Michael. He's practically out of his mind worrying about you." LJ clarified, grinning.

"Tell him I'm fine. I'll go check on him when I can." Sara replied, unable to conceal a smile at Michael's concern.

"No problem. Look, I should probably go. They might not be so thrilled to see me here." He said, glancing at the door. Sara nodded, suddenly feeling tired again. A few minutes after LJ was gone, she was asleep.

* * *

The door creaked open, and footsteps followed. Must be that doctor again. Then Sara recognized the sounds of high heels clacking on the tiled floor, however. She managed to pick her head up, and saw Dr. Carrol standing at the foot of her bed, checking the charts.

After a moment, the department head glanced up at Sara. Upon seeing that the patient was awake, Dr. Carrol smiled. "Good afternoon, Dr. Tancredi." She greeted Sara, sitting gracefully on the plastic chair. Sara nodded slightly in greeting. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"That's good. Everything indicates it was just stress, lack of sleep, that sort of thing. Just too much for your body to handle." The older doctor remarked.

"That's what they tell me." Sara quipped, glancing up at the ceiling. How had she been so entertained by the ceiling earlier? "What time is it?"

"A little after four." Carrol replied. "Mr. Burrows had to leave this morning."

"I know." Sara responded, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

"I came to talk to you about this… situation. I believe I'm correct when I say that's what stressed you out so?" Carrol paused, waiting for a response. Sara gave none. "Look, in a hospital this size, there are no secrets. Everyone knows everything. So I know about what's been going on between you and Mr. Scofield for the past little bit." Again a pause, and again no response. "I hardly think I need to remind you what the rules are here; you know them. And these are somewhat extenuating circumstances. You've become involved with him again. This is exactly the thing I warned you about when he first came. I knew you would get in too deep, and it would end up hurting you."

"With all due respect, Dr. Carrol, I can make my own choices." Sara said, managing a respectful tone.

"I know. But I think you need to reevaluate the situation, and ask yourself if this is really the way you want to go. You collapsed, Sara. That's not normal. You're still waiting on a job review. You need to get your life back in order before you make any decisions about him."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Carrol smiled faintly. "I hope so. I just want you to make the right choices."

Shortly thereafter, Carrol gave her permission to return to work and left the room. Sara unhooked the IV, and changed back to her work clothes. She then exited her room, and located the nearest bathroom. Sara entered, fixed her hair, applied a little make-up, and left. She stopped by her office to check on things, and then went back out into the hall. Sara had been given leave to go home early, but she needed to check on Michael first.

* * *

When she arrived in his room, Sara saw that he was pacing. Michael's pacing was somewhat awkward, considering the room was not very wide, and that he had to carry his IV with him. As she opened the door, Michael whirled around (almost tripping on his IV stand). Before she had a chance to say a word, his arms were around her, keeping her as close to him as physically possible, as though he could save her from anything while she was in his embrace.

"You should be in bed." Sara remarked, as his hold loosened.

"I could say the same for you." He retorted, giving a small smile. He dropped his arms entirely, and strode over to the bed. Michael proceeded to sit down on the edge of it to prevent any further debate over such a trivial matter.

"I'm fine." She insisted, going automatically to his charts.

"You fainted Sara. That doesn't mean your fine." Michael argued, eyes following her as she crossed the room.

"I collapsed. There's a difference." She corrected patiently.

"Either way you were suddenly unconscious on the floor." He pointed out. "Is something wrong?"

Sara shook her head. "No, just lack of sleep and improper nutrition." She decided she wouldn't tell him about the stress. That would require admitting that this situation was stressful, and at this point, Sara would rather pretend to be coping. To prove just how much she was coping, she focused her attention on his file.

"Sara?" He waited until she peered over the edge of the notes to continue. "I'm glad you're okay."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Have we said 'I love you' before?" Michael asked. This not only got Sara to look over the charts, but to set them down altogether.

"Why?" She asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. He grabbed her hand with his own.

"I'm just wondering how significant this moment is."

Sara's breath caught slightly in her throat. She could guess well enough where he was going with this. "Yes." Sara answered honestly. "Once or twice."

"That's good." Michael commented, right before he kissed her. "Because Sara? I love you." He managed to get in between kisses. Sara moaned in agreement, and for a moment, both people were content to not speak but to allow their actions to speak for themselves. Gradually Sara recalled the fact that they were in a hospital, and there was no "do not disturb" sign equivalent here. Anyone could (and would) barge in at any second, so it was best not to allow things to escalate too far.

As Sara stood up and fixed her hair as much as she could, Michael's features took on a pensive cast. "You could come back with us." He said. Sara's hands froze where they were straightening the collar on her coat. "Back to San Diego." Michael's low voice was closer to her, further proven by how he wrapped his arms around her midsection. "You should come."

She stifled a faint sigh. This was the moment she'd been dreading. In the span of time between when Carrol left and when Sara got out of the hospital room, she'd made her decision. She twisted in his hold so she was facing him. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Michael."

He frowned. "Why not?" Sara would definitely agree that Michael looked surprised now, as though he'd been certain she would accept.

"I need to stay here, and work some things out." She explained softly, pushing a stray hair back into place.

"What about in a little bit, when you've taken care of whatever it is you need to take care of?" He asked, not willing to accept defeat so easily.

Sara looked down, biting her lip lightly before lifting her gaze to meet his again. "I don't know." She answered honestly.

Michael released his embrace and turned away from her. He strode to the window, and stopped in front of it, resting his hands on the sill. "I don't mean to intrude or to press, but it seemed like we had something going here." Michael commented. He was unable to keep a hint of disappointment from entering his tone.

She stepped towards him. "We do. But, it's complicated. More complicated than you realize." Sara tried to explain. "I'm sorry." She added, after a moment of silence.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I love you, Sara." Michael said feebly.

"I love you too, Michael." She replied instantly.

"Then what is the problem?" He demanded, turning to face her again.

"The problem is I have a life now. You left me alone for two years, and I had to fill it. I have things to do here, history here. If you don't like it, you should never have allowed it to happen!" Sara couldn't help the sharp tone she assumed as she spoke. She also couldn't help the fact that even after everything that had transpired, she was still bitter.

"This is about before, isn't it." Michael stated, a few awkward moments later.

Sara nodded, then shook her head. "Partially. But not entirely. There _are_ extenuating circumstances here. I need to sort a few things out." All emotion had dropped out of her voice now. "I can't go with you now."

"Sara, there's always a way, we can figure this out together. I want you to be there as I relearn everything, as I remember you."

"So do I, but there is only one way to fix things and that's for me to stay. There's things with work, things to adjust to. Believe it or not you've caused a lot of disruption inside my head, just by being back here, and I need to get things back to normal." Sara replied, crossing her arms. She realized abruptly that they were standing on opposite sides of the room as though if they were too close something bad might happen. What that something was, Sara had no idea, but she was afraid to be too close to him right now. Maybe she was afraid of losing her opinion on this. Sara was also aware that her vision was blurring. For an instant, she thought she was about to faint-collapse- again. Then she realized it was just tears. Sara tried to brush them away, but more kept coming. She ducked her head to try to keep him from seeing.

And then his arms were around her again, rubbing her back soothingly. He knew how much his embrace would comfort her, and he would not deny her that; not even now, when she was breaking his heart- and her own. "I want to come." She whispered into his shoulder. "But I can't."

"I know." He murmured back. They stood like that for several long minutes, each taking solace from the nearness of the other. There was a new desperation to this, as though this was the last time they might be this close. That thought alone was enough to make Sara's blood run cold, but she saw no alternatives.

Eventually, Sara pulled away. "I should check on some other patients and head out." She explained, straightening her coat again.

"Yeah." Michael agreed, striding away to sit on the bed.

"And you two have to leave early tomorrow."

"About eight." He supplemented.

"About eight. I'll be here so you can sign the release forms." Sara vowed.

"Fine." Maybe her appearance tomorrow morning would make him unhappy, considering how she'd rejected his offer, one he'd been convinced she would accept. Sara hoped not, but wouldn't blame him if it did.

"I'll see you then, I guess." Sara said, resting a hand on the doorknob. Michael nodded, and she left. She didn't check on any more patients. Instead, Sara went home, ate, and had a good long cry about the enigmatic Michael Scofield, for what she hoped would be the last time.

* * *

There is one more chapter left, people! Just one! And it's already been written and posted! So go! Go to chapter 10!!!

And please review at least one of the two!

And I apologize for my sudden energy burst here at the bottom…. it's pretty late here….


	10. Touch of Sun and Mark of You

Chapter 10: Touch of Sun and Mark of You

The final chapter... More author's note stuff at the bottom. Enjoy this last chapter!

* * *

They say the weather in San Diego is perfect: not too hot, not too cold, and sunny most days. From the moment tourists step off the airplanes that soared them across the country (and in some cases the world), they are bombarded by sunlight. As they lift a hand to shade their eyes, the visitors spy foliage in the distance so green that for a moment, they can forget the pure azure sky. As they make their way through the airport to baggage claim, they clamor excitedly about how wonderful it already seems.

Sara Tancredi was, needless to say, not one of the clamoring tourists. Back in the days when she was a fugitive, Sara had learned that it was best not to draw unnecessary attention to herself. This lesson had stuck, and so she found herself striding quickly through the terminal, wanting only to get past the families on vacation and the weary businessmen before they all congregating in front of the rotating luggage belts, effectively preventing her from reacquiring hers. She wanted to be on her way as quickly as possible. Plus, for all she cared, it could be five degrees and snowing out. She wasn't in the city for the weather.

Fifteen minutes later, the automatic doors whooshed open to allow the auburn-haired woman to step out into the nearly blinding sunlight. Good thing she remembered to bring sunglasses on this trip. Sara searched through her carry-on bag for a moment before pulling a pair of dark frames out. Once they settled carefully on the bridge of her nose, she easily flagged down a taxi. As Sara shoved her bags into the back and climbed in, explained that she needed a hotel, and the driver sped off down the road.

Shortly thereafter, the cab arrived at a nearby hotel. Sara paid, exited, and entered the hotel. Twenty minutes after that, having checked in and deposited her bags, she quickly found another cab. She hailed over another cab. As Sara read off an address, the driver nodded and took off.

Some time later- Sara wasn't sure how long; she lost all sense of time staring out the window at the never-ending line of buildings. Except, she wasn't really seeing them. Instead, she was mentally reliving the events of the past four months.

It had been six weeks since Michael, Lincoln, and LJ had returned from Chicago, making it late April. Two weeks after their departure, Sara had been summoned to a meeting with Carrol and the Chief of the hospital. Together, they explained that they had agreed for Sara to be suspended without pay until a committee of some sort could review the situation and decide on the correct subsequent consequences. It didn't really matter that she still had a chance to regain her job; after "suspended without pay" Sara stopped listening. She knew that even if the committee allowed her to hold onto her job, she would carry only a shred of the influence of her previous influence, and it would be a mockery of her time before. So, at the end of their lecture, Sara formally resigned. She lingered in the area for a few weeks, trying to find acceptable work, before deciding the place she really needed to be was San Diego. A little research and a plane ride later, there she was.

Sara still felt horrible about having to turn Michael down before, but she stood by her decision. She had needed to stay to find out about her job, to make up her mind and decide if this was what she really wanted. Now, two months removed from the incident, Sara felt she was able to make this choice with a clear mind. She only hoped Michael still wanted to see her.

"Hey, lady, you gonna get out of my car or not?" The driver demanded, turned around and looking at her.

"What? Oh, sorry. Yes. What do I owe you?" Sara asked, snapping out of her thoughts and momentarily flustered. She paid the driver and got out of the vehicle. As he drove away, Sara stared up at the looming apartment building. It was nice, relatively new, and exactly the sort of place Sara had always envisioned Michael living. She took a deep breath, and walked inside.

The lobby was average. Decorated in a modern way, there was a large desk behind which two employees sat. Sara was about to stride over to ask which apartment was Michael's when she spied a familiar face.

"Sara?" Lincoln found his voice again before Sara did.

"Lincoln." She responded as he walked over to her. "Hi."

"Hey. What are you doing here?" He asked, jamming his fists into the pockets of his jeans.

"I came to see how he's doing. I'm sorry, I should have called, but-"

"Don't worry about that. It's not like he called you before he went to Chicago." Lincoln advised her. "So you just decided to come out here? Just like that?"

"I thought about it. I was in trouble with the hospital for how I handled Michael's case, and everyone agreed it would be easiest if I quit, so I did. I cleared everything up, and then I didn't have anything else to do, so…." She explained.

"Ah."

"Is that a problem?" She paused, waiting for a response. She didn't get one. "You know what, I shouldn't have come. I'll just go." Sara made to turn away, but Lincoln caught her arm.

"Please don't." He said, releasing her. "It's just difficult right now."

"He's involved with someone now, isn't he?" Sara asked, voicing her worst concerns. This was rapidly becoming a disastrous situation, and she wanted to either see Michael or to leave, right now, while she still held onto a scrap of self-respect.

"The thing is, now may not be the best time for you to show up. There's some chairs over there. Let's go talk there." Lincoln suggested, pointing to a line of armchairs on the opposite side of the lobby. Sara nodded.

* * *

"So you're telling me he's remembered up to the escape." Sara stated, to make sure she had it right. "Including me leaving the door open."

Lincoln nodded. "And he feels terrible about it." Sara couldn't fault Michael there; he really had taken complete advantage of her feelings for him then. "He's barely done anything these past few days, since he remembered. I doubt he'll be up to talking to you."

Sara exhaled slowly. This was unexpected. "How's he handled getting his memory back?"

The older brother shrugged. "It's strange, I'll tell you that. As stuff comes back to him, he gets moody depending on what it was. He remembered that I owed someone ninety grand, and assumed it was still and issue between him and I, and he wouldn't talk to me again until he remembered Veronica telling him that the ninety thousand was for him. He was pretty depressed when he remembered planning to break me out, and getting into Fox River." Lincoln hesitated.

"What is it?"

"It's just… He was so happy the day he got his first trip to the infirmary back. He could barely sit still. He thought about calling you, but he wasn't sure you'd appreciate it." He explained.

"Oh."

"And now he's remembered what he did to you, and he feels so guilty that I've had LJ watching him when I can't, because I'm afraid Michael might do something drastic." Lincoln finished.

Sara was silent for a moment, pondering the implications of all this. "You think he might hurt himself?" She asked for clarification.

"I don't know. I don't want to misjudge this. He did everything for me, and now its my turn to look out for him. After everything he did, I don't want to mess this up."

"I know, Lincoln." Sara said softly, in a sympathetic tone.

"You're welcome to hang out at mine and LJ's place until you can get a flight home, if you want." Lincoln offered.

Sara glanced up at him. "No. I need to talk to him."

"To Michael?" Lincoln asked, incredulous.

Sara nodded. "He feels bad. I need to talk to him."

"Are you sure this is going to help him?"

"No. But I need to talk to him, Lincoln. I need to. I love him." Sara explained softly. Lincoln sighed, but stood and nodded.

"Michael?" Lincoln called as he slid the key back onto his key ring and they entered Michael's apartment. Judging on how sound was coming from the other room, there was a TV on. There was not, however, an immediate response to Lincoln's call. "Mike?" He shouted louder this time.

"What do you want, Lincoln?" Michael's voice was defeated, listless.

"Someone's here to see you." Lincoln answered.

There was shuffling in the other room, and then slow footsteps. Michael appeared in the doorway. Sara noted that he was wearing only a pair of pajama pants and didn't appear to have shaved in days. It looked like he just didn't want to put any effort into anything, and this saddened her. Michael's lips moved soundlessly when he saw her.

"Hello, Michael." Sara said softly, in greeting.

Michael didn't respond. Lincoln glanced slowly at both of them. "I'll uh, I'll be downstairs if you need anything." Lincoln announced. When neither Sara nor Michael complained, he walked back out the door.

"You should go." Michael's voice sliced through the silence a moment later. Sara just crossed her arms defiantly. "You should go." He repeated.

"Why, Michael? So you can do this to yourself?" Sara asked, gesturing at his unkept appearance.

"You should go."

"Why?"

"Please, just go Sara." Michael breathed desperately.

"No." She took a few steps towards him. He took a few steps back, so Sara stopped moving.

"Michael, you have to let us help you."

"I don't deserve to be helped." Michael countered.

"Yes, Michael, you do." Sara asserted, taking a slow step forwards. "I cautioned you back in Chicago that not everything you would remember would be pleasant. We can get through this."

"Sara, please, no, just go. Please, leave me alone."

"I can't do that Michael. And I don't think you really mean any of that. I'm staying."

He was silent for a moment, watching her. Suddenly he turned away from her, facing a window. The window provided the only light in the otherwise dark apartment. "I hurt you so badly, Sara." He whispered, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him.

"That's okay, Michael. I forgave you a long time ago." Sara insisted softly.

Michael shook his head fervently. "No, no, it's not okay. I can never forgive myself for this."

Sara realized that he must have felt things like this before, while he still had all of his memories. He must have felt guilty ever since Fox River about what he put her through. And now he thought he was sparing her pain by not allowing himself to be with her? Suddenly Sara realized that this was probably exactly why he hadn't contacted her during the two years for similar reasons. He didn't feel worthy of her, so he kept himself away. Everything that Sara had wondered about before about them became clear. And while she was thrilled that he cared so deeply about her to do this to himself, Sara knew that this couldn't stand.

She came to stand next to him. They both stood, just staring out the window for several minutes. Eventually he turned to her. "You need to leave." Michael said.

Instead of arguing again, Sara pressed up on her toes and kissed him. Feelings that she'd tried to put off for two months flooded back, filling her with a searing, passionate heat. Her hands drifted towards his face, and came to rest on his shoulders. After a moment, Sara realized that he wasn't responding in any way. She pulled back, and saw that he was just standing there, eyes open, hands limp at his sides as though he didn't care at all.

"Michael-"

"Please go." Michael repeated, more firmly now.

"Michael, please just listen-"

"Go."

"Michael, I-"

"Don't say it!" He urged her, knowing exactly what three words she was about to utter.

"I love you!" Sara proclaimed. Neither spoke for a long moment. "I love you, and it's okay. I forgave you years ago. I love you."

Michael stared at her, staring into her eyes. "It's not okay. I ruined your life."

"You didn't ruin it." Sara insisted. "I promise. I love you, and the last time I saw you, you loved me too."

"Of course I love you, Sara." Michael stated assertively. "But I hurt you so badly…"

Sara kissed him again. "It's okay." She murmured in his ear. "I hurt you pretty bad too."

"I love you." He whispered back. She thought he sounded like he was clinging to that statement, as though if he lost that, he would lose everything. Sara felt very much the same way.

"I love you too, Michael." Sara replied. He kissed her passionately, with all the heat he could muster. It was such a sharp contrast to his mood only moments before, and Sara was glad for the turnaround. Based on Lincoln's description, Michael was exhibiting more energy in this moment than in the past week. "Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"You haven't remembered it yet, but we've both had our moments where we mess up this relationship. It's not just you. I've done things too." Sara explained.

Michael paused for a moment, taking a brief break from unbuttoning her shirt. "Why don't you tell me about it?" He asked, leaning in to kiss her again.

Sara laughed, and kissed him back. "Maybe later." She said.

* * *

Perhaps a little fluffy here, but after everything, they deserved it.

So that's the final chapter. I really hope you enjoyed this story. It took me about twice as long to write it as I anticipated it would, and was nearly twice as long, but I'm happy with it. A HUGE thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story, and especially to those who reviewed! Please review this last chapter and let me know what you think!

Now I just need to find something else to write...


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